Arvil Bren's Journal
by Tim Cummings
Summary: Arvil Bren, a wizard of Breton descent, follows a harrowing path across the mysterious island of Vvardenfell. He is a pawn in a game played by unseen powers, by unknown rules.
1. Chapter 1

_**Day One: My arrival in Vvardenfell**_

I am Arvil Bren, a wizard of Breton descent. Through an odd chain of events and circumstances I arrived this morning in the province of Morrowind. Though I arrived as a prisoner, I was immediately released upon my arrival here in the port of Seyda Neen. It seems the emperor has plans for me, though how they mesh with my own plans remains to be seen.

I received my release, and a fair stipend, from one Sellus Gravius, a Knight Errant of the Imperial Legion who is apparently in charge of the local guard contingent. While he was polite he was not overly friendly. It was clear that releasing me was a matter of following orders. He passed on orders for me as well. I am to report to a man named Caius Cosades in the town of Balmora and deliver a package of documents. I have also been instructed that I will receive further orders. While having my freedom unexpectedly returned to me is certainly a blessing, I am not sure that this service to the emperor will suit me well. I remain undecided about following these orders, and for now the documents languish in my pack.

Even though I am unsure about my desire to serve the emperor, it does seem prudent to ingratiate myself somewhat with the local authorities, and an immediate opportunity to do so presented itself. A Bosmer by the name of Fargoth was the first civilian I encountered this morning as I left the customs house. He is apparently not the most popular fellow with the constabulary, as he immediately complained of weekly shakedowns. Coincidentally I had found the ring that he thought had been stolen, a family heirloom of some sort he claims. He was friendly enough, and certainly expressed his gratitude for the return of his ring, but I feel no overwhelming loyalty to him; and when one of the guards commented on his roguish behavior and requested my assistance I gladly agreed.

I spent the day establishing myself here in the relative wilderness of Morrowind. I suppose I should not judge the entire province by the small area I have seen, particularly since this area, called the Bitter Coast, does not get high marks from it's own inhabitants. It does offer good hunting, and I dined well on the meat of the local mudcrabs after acquiring a spear at the tradehouse. I also had a run in with other local aquatic life, known as slaughterfish. Given my limited skill with the spear and my unarmored legs I felt lucky to get safely back on shore. Fortunately the authorities felt inclined to provide somewhat for their latest immigrant and let me rest on a rough pallet in the basement of the customs house.

I rose at midnight, and on the advice of Hrisskar Flat-Foot climbed to the top of the lighthouse. From this lofty vantage I could see most of the town without being observed myself. As expected this provided me the opportunity to see Fargoth caching his ill-gotten gains in a tree stump in a bog that lies behind the main street's buildings, separating them from the meaner shacks in the poorer part of town. Once he had safely moved on I climbed down from the lighthouse, recovered the booty and reported to Hrisskar. I was well rewarded for my efforts, materially as well as in the goodwill of the guard. Fargoth's ring, while it may be a family heirloom, is not an heirloom of his Bosmer clan as the engraving is in the language of the Altmer. The presence in his stash of a high quality lock-pick suggests that his possession of this item has no more legitimacy than mine, so I will be keeping it for myself.

On the morrow I shall continue familiarizing myself with the area, and meeting the local folk. I did get detailed directions to this town, Balmora, which is also accessible by taking a silt-strider; a great local beast used for caravan transport. How I will go, or even if I will go, remains to be seen.

_**Day Two: Death of a taxman**_

My second day here in Morrowind offered yet another opportunity to establish myself with the local authorities. Perhaps it is my fate to become a good citizen and trod the straight and narrow path. The guards here are appreciative of me, the financial rewards have been good, and my memories of prison serve to remind me that my prior life wasn't all that desirable. My mind is not yet firm on this yet though, so I have no definite plan to depart for Balmora.

To expand on how I served the Empire today, let me start by recounting what seemed this morning to be the absolute talk of the town; the disappearance of the local tax collector. As intended, I set out this morning to meet some of the local townspeople and expand my knowledge of the area. It did not take long to realize that everyone I met seemed willing to speculate on the missing Processus Vitellius. I also recognized quickly that there was no great affection for the tax collector, and in my own mind had to suspect that he had met a bad end. If the good citizens of Seyda Neen looked at his disappearance with so little concern for his welfare, I was sure that some of the less law abiding would see his disappearance as such a good thing that they would have been willing to cause it. Even the guards were not too inclined to investigate the matter, adding credence to a rumor that they are on the take, and that a nearby cave is the headquarters of a smuggling operation.

I pondered the situation as I set out hunting in a new area southwest of town, with an eye towards any recent digging that might indicate an unmarked grave. In very short order it was made clear that my understanding of the situation was correct. The body of the dead tax collector had been abandoned to the crabs without even the minimal respect of a shallow grave, and I found it by the off chance of tracking a crab and some kwama; hive dwelling creatures whose foragers scour the surrounding areas for food. The kwama foragers and crabs had begun their grisly work before falling prey to my spear, but the body was easily identifiable. In a belt pouch containing two hundred gold septims was a scroll of tax records.

Making a note of the location I took the tax record and the money back to town. The first test of my newfound good citizenship came up very quickly. The guards directed me to Socucius Ergalla, the overseer of the customs house and the same gentleman who welcomed me to Morrowind yesterday. He also was not overly broken up about the lost life of the tax collector. Morrowind is a dangerous land, lives are often taken suddenly, and, as I was reminded in many conversations throughout the day, no one likes a tax collector. Apparently that even includes other tax collectors. Socucius did take a liking to me though, when to his surprise (and in fact my own), I admitted to finding the money on the body and turned it over.

My first actual act of honesty paid off handsomely as it turned out. Socucius offered me five hundred septims if I could bring the murderer to justice. At the time I was quite put off since he did not reward me on the spot for finding the body and turning in the money, and thought to myself that I should have kept the two hundred in hand rather than being sent on yet another errand for the Empire. As the day unfolded though the mystery was not that difficult to solve and by day's end I not only had a fat purse but a place to lay my head that I can call my own.

I began my detective work by examining the tax records. Four of the entries were not marked as paid, and I reasoned that one of them had opted for murder rather than paying their just due. Although she seemed an unlikely suspect, the Altmer woman Eldafire was nearest the top of the list, so I sought her out first. It was also easy to choose her since I had spoken to her earlier. In fact it was from her that I got the information about the smugglers in the nearby cave. She expressed no surprise at the news confirming Processus' death, but of course I was not the only one to suspect that his disappearance would turn out to be due to foul play. She suggested the smugglers as possible suspects, but I thought that unlikely. No one making their way in the smuggler's trade would leave a purse unsearched on a dead man.

In speaking to those who benefited from the death of the tax collector the lighthouse keeper, Thavere Vedrano, was mentioned consistently as having had some sort of relationship with the dead man, and I put off continuing down the list to speak to her. She was very upset at the news, and I suspect she will be even more of a driving force in having the body recovered and properly interred than the authorities will. In speaking to her I also got a much different sense of Processus. While many in the town assumed he was overtaxing them and skimming off the top to support an extravagant lifestyle, it turns out that Thavere had given him the ring that was most often mentioned as an indication that he lived above his means. While I could not completely dispel my doubts about pursuing an errand for the authorities, her obvious love for the man gave me good cause to seek justice. I promised her that I would pursue the killer, and also try to return her ring.

Thavere gave me a critical lead, saying that Foryn Gilnith, a local fisherman, had been disputing his taxes with Processus for some time. I went to his shack, thinking that if I confronted him with the tax records which showed him having a large unpaid balance he might slip and say something incriminating. I overestimated his intelligence, or underestimated his malice. I no sooner mentioned having found the body than he quite proudly claimed credit for the kill, and informed me that he would not hesitate to kill another 'lackey of the emperor'. He was a brute, with the strong hands of a fisherman, and I considered myself lucky to spit him on my spear before the beating he was giving me knocked me unconscious. I was quite sure that if he put me down I would never rise again.

In turning over Gilnith's body to the authorities I kept the ring he had in his pocket, and was pleased when I returned it to Thavere at the lighthouse. The five hundred septim reward is a comforting weight in my purse as I write, and I am seated at a crude but serviceable table in what is now my own shack in Seyda Neen. At least for the interim Gilnith's shack has been given to me, and under the circumstances I don't expect my sleep to be troubled as I take to the dead man's bed.

_**Day Three: Cave of the smugglers**_

The day dawned drab and rainy; appropriate for my attitude. Good citizenship looked like an endless parade of days spent hunting in the rain, my spearpoint is getting blunted from punching through the hard shells of the mudcrabs, and the gleam of gold set off a nostalgia for my old ways. I set out for the nearby cave known to the locals as Addamasartus, with the intent of throwing in my lot with the smugglers that reputedly use it as a hideout. Once again though it seems my fate lies on a new path.

When I entered the cave I was immediately attacked by a knife wielding rogue. She fell quickly to my spear, but it was clear that throwing in with this particular band of smugglers would be most unlikely. As it turns out smuggling here in Morrowind is not to my taste anyway. One of the fallen rogue's pockets yielded a key. I took the key expecting to find some sort of lockbox. As I went deeper into the cave I quickly found out otherwise. Penned behind a locked gate I found three manacled slaves. It turns out that slavery being legal in Morrowind although rightfully banned throughout the rest of the Empire has made for a strong black market in captive labor. I freed the captives, and their manacles now adorn my table. While I might not be the most upright citizen, I will not traffic in slaves.

The smuggler's other major commodity is moon sugar apparently. From their crates and barrels I recovered at least a pound of the illegal granules, as well as two vials of the refined form, skooma. Looting this cache called for dispatching two additional smugglers, one a particularly dangerous mage and the other a rogue who inflicted numerous wounds with small throwing stars before I could corner her within range of my spear. My friend Arrille at the tradehouse gladly purchased their used armor and weaponry, as well as some fair quality weapons that I found laying about. I sounded him briefly regarding the moon sugar, but clearly running a tradehouse directly across the street from Morrowind's major customs house calls for him operating completely above the boards. I thought briefly, well very briefly, of destroying the contraband materials, but my own good citizenship is of such a recent vintage that I could not bring myself to do it. I will just have to transport it to one of the larger cities and find a market for it.

Reasons to make the trip to Balmora are accumulating fast, and I may find myself following the Emperor's orders after all. Being a good citizen for three days has certainly been profitable enough, and the townspeople of Seyda Neen are beginning to warm up to me a bit. The guards response to my elimination of the smugglers does have me convinced that corruption is the norm here, or at least widespread, but it is certainly not my place to sit in judgment. If they were clinging a little tighter to the straight and narrow it would have been a lot more difficult for me to get settled in here the way that I have. While I have taken four lives in three days I go to bed with a clear conscience, and no legal entanglements. Refreshing.

_**Day Four: Pearls and assassins**_

I am beginning to accept my fate, and it pays off. This morning I confronted the rain and dreariness of the Bitter Coast and set out to hunt. The rain stopped almost immediately, and very quickly the overcast broke into a sunny day. I made the best of being a good citizen, and one of the guards helped me explore the bay west of town.

I wanted to see if the local shellfish, called a kollop, produced pearls. I waded into the water, only to find myself surrounded by ravenous slaughterfish. Flailing with my spear I backed ashore. Fortunately the ring I got from Fargoth's trove has limited restorative powers. I was considering a plan to make repeated brief forays into the water to draw the slaughterfish in, and then thin their ranks from the beach with the reach of my spear. That was not necessary though. One of the guards recognized the problem and came to my aid. With a little negotiation he agreed to swim out and cover me with his sword while I dove for the kallops. After finding a fine pearl I rewarded him with some gold and we parted company.

It is good to be on good terms with the constabulary for once, but I don't want to press my luck. Returning to my shack full of contraband is too incongruous with my new relations with the authorities. I have no reason to expect a search of my quarters, but why take the risk? In the smuggler's cave Addamasartus there is a deep grotto, only accessible by a brief underwater swim. I secreted the moon sugar in a rusty chest that I found on the bank there. It's most unlikely that anyone will find it. While I will regret the loss if someone does, at least it will not cause me any problems with the authorities. In truth it is probably more secure there than in my battered shack anyway, which led me to also put the pearl I found and a silver dagger in the chest as well.

The silver dagger is the tip of an iceberg of a mystery, which started this afternoon as I was resting on a beach. I was violently attacked with that dagger by a man in black armor. Struggling to my feet I managed to quaff a restorative potion, which I believe is the only thing that kept me alive long enough to bring my spear to bear in my defense. Once I had successfully skewered my assailant I stripped him of his armor, which is apparently made from very fine chain made of a particularly resilient steel. It is fabulously light, and a wonderful matte black in color; excellent for surreptitious night work. Speaking with one of the local guards has convinced me that this armor is a hallmark of the Dark Brotherhood, the assassins guild. I am very concerned that I have seemingly been marked for death by someone in a position to hire such an organization. While I intend to continue sleeping well, I do so now with a cautious ear.

_**Day Five: The messy death of Tarhiel the mage**_

This morning I witnessed the messy death of a shortsighted spellcaster. From his journal I know that his name was Tarhiel, and from his dress I can surmise that he was fairly well off, but no one in Seyda Neen has heard of him and I have no idea from where he hailed. Hailed is a word of many meanings, and for Tarhiel more than one are appropriate. My first glimpse of him came as he plummeted like a stone from the sky, though his screaming was far from stonelike.

I rushed through the trees and found the crumpled corpse. He was clearly dead, broken beyond recognition. I wondered how he came to fall from such a great height until I scanned the recent entries in his journal, which though a bit the worse for wear had survived the fall. It seems Tarhiel invented a spell for himself with the intention of leaping great distances. Apparently he forgot that while jumping a great distance would be a boon to a traveler, some provision for landing would be required. In his pockets were three copies of his final spell, but I see no practical use for them.

After burying Tarhiel I resumed my search for pearls, this time in the opposite bay. Even with no assistance I did manage to thin the ranks of the vicious slaughterfish sufficiently to swim out to a kollop bed unassailed; however the east side of Seyda Neen is the harbor and reaching the kollops in the bottom of the main shipping channel was a serious challenge. While I did succeed in retrieving another pearl the effort was exhausting and I returned to town before sunset to recuperate.

With an early evening and feeling expansive I bought a few rounds at the tradehouse, and have established some friendships with the regulars there. I did have a confrontation in the street with Vodunius Nuccius, who seemed intent on taking offence to everything I said. After speaking with his friend Darvame Hleran the caravaner I could see that it is his situation he is upset with, not me. Seyda Neen was definitely not what he had in mind when he came to Morrowind. I purchased a ring from him so that he could catch a ship or caravan and move on. The ring is very nice, but seems to have an enchantment with some bad side effects laid on it. I'm sure I could get most of what I paid back if I sell the ring, and it is an improvement to look forward to having Vodunius' unhappy presence removed from the streets.

_**Day Six Smuggler's docks**_

Today I explored southeast of town; an area of small rocky islands ideal for smuggling operations. I located a small dock where a leafboat was tied. I suspect it may have belonged to the smugglers of Addamasartus. There were a number of empty cargo chests on board, and I found some scraps of moon sugar. It also was not a secure place to leave a boat long term, and gave the appearance that it had been left for at least a few days. I would guess that they intended to return to their boat before I dealt them their untimely demise.

I again spent the evening at the tradehouse. There is a Nord scout called Raflod the Braggart. Although he is loud and boisterous, and will talk about anything whether he has any knowledge or not, he has been an invaluable source of knowledge regarding the bonemold plate armors that are popular here in Morrowind. They are lighter than plate metal armors, more comparable to chain mail in weight.

I have also picked up some local lore from a battlemage, Albecius Colollius by name. He tells me that the burial customs of the native Dunmer present some interesting opportunities. Ancestral tombs fall prey to neglect in dwindling or far-flung families, and these neglected tombs sometimes contain very interesting items. To highlight the dangers he mentioned that some foolish spellcaster who had come into possession of an artifact he called Mentor's Ring apparently lost it in a tomb somewhere along the coast. There are hazards, particularly ghosts and other ancestral spirit guardians, but it definitely sounds worth the risk to explore if I come across one. I may get lucky and find this lost ring.

Tomorrow will mark one full week here in Morrowind. As my explorations carry me further from Seyda Neen I get more and more inclined to head for Balmora. My spear is almost completely blunted, and I have picked up a halberd from Arrille, but there is no smith in town to repair my spear or appraise the black armor. I am accumulating some interesting plants, and would like to experiment with some of them, but there is no alchemical equipment available in town. And of course I would like to find a buyer for my growing hoard of moon sugar.

_**Day Seven: A tomb almost my own**_

This could be called a successful day of exploration, or a severe setback to mark my first week in Morrowind. Either way, I am glad to be in my rough little shack to write about it. This afternoon it seemed doubtful that I would survive. I found not one but two ancestral tombs along the coast to the west, but learned that finding them might turn out to be the easy part.

I was having a good day; gigged a few crabs and a number of slaughterfish, swam to a shoal close ashore and found a pearl in a kollop, felt pretty confident in my growing ability with the halberd. Then I found the first tomb, a rounded arch of greenish stone sheltering a wooden door. I entered cautiously and quietly and began creeping down a long narrow stair. There appeared to be a chamber of some sort at the bottom, and in the chamber I could see a skeleton of a man. It seemed to be some sort of display, intended to frighten interlopers who entered the tomb, and in its bony hand was affixed a longbow. As I neared the bottom step a hazy figure came hurtling out of the darkness with an eerie wail and magical energies crackled around me in some sort of curse. I took a swipe at the specter with my halberd, but to my dismay the blade passed right through without any effect! My good day was falling rapidly into a black abyss.

Backing rapidly up the stair as I slung my halberd, I readied a fireball spell. The spirit was right on top of me, and the chill of it's spectral claws seared my flesh, even though I felt no contact. But wait, I did feel contact! A shocking impact on my iron breastplate that sent me stumbling backwards on the stairs. In my distraction I had not noticed the skeleton springing into animation, but could see him now trying to aim a second shot around the howling guardian that descended clawing at my chest. Without rising I completed the necessary gestures and a ball of magical flame engulfed the ghost, driving it up and off of me. On heels and elbows I scrambled backwards, slipping onto the landing at the top of the stair as a fusillade of arrows clattered off the stone walls above me. There on the landing, still on my back, I battled the enraged ghost; scorching it repeatedly with magical fire as it clawed me with its icy talons. It eventually collapsed into a bubbling pool of green sludge, and staying low to avoid the alert skeleton's gaze I bolted out the door.

To my horror, hanging in the air outside the door was a winged native flyer known as a cliff racer. In my battered and beleaguered state it was all I could do to fend off the buffeting wings, spiked tail, and razor sharp beak. More than I could do actually, and my raw seared flesh was parted in several places by the time I had brought the beast low with several jabs from the halberd. I hoped that the skeleton would not leave its post in the tomb as I collapsed in a heap in the archway. It took several hours of resting and using all the restorative energies that my ring could muster before I felt sufficiently able to defend myself to undertake the walk home. I never expected to be so glad to see this run down shack.

_**Day Eight: The Emperor's Blade**_

With yesterday's harsh lesson still showing in the stiffness of my joints I rose well before dawn, packed, and headed for the strider port. What an amazing creature! Riding on a plush seat set in a hollow in the back of a thirty foot tall insect as it strides across field and marsh was an experience that is hard to describe, and is not for the squeamish. The caravaner directs the great beast by applying pressure using a set of levers and cords. These controls are attached to various internal organs and structures, and a delicate touch is required to avoid injuring the vehicle. The ride is comfortable and surprisingly smooth, and the long legs eat up the distance. I arrived in Balmora shortly after dawn, finding the city shrouded in a soft mist.

With much to accomplish on this trip and little idea where to begin I thought my first order of business should be delivering the Emperor's documents to Caius Cosades. I reasoned that no matter what came of the delivery I would be able to get some local information from him. What an underestimation that turned out to be! I started my search at the South Wall Cornerclub, where I expected to possibly catch an early rising proprietor or serving wench. Wrong again. The denizens of the South Wall were just settling in from their night's activities. It wasn't hard to recognize the place as the local Thieves Guild hangout, as the first person I met when I walked in was a pawnbroker who clearly would not have many questions about the origin of any goods that came her way. When I asked her about Cosades she referred to him as an 'old sugar-tooth', and I was even further taken aback. On the Emperor's business, directed to a den of thieves, in search of a drug addict; I considered chucking the whole project and joining the Guild, but the strangeness of the situation got the best of my curiosity. At the direction of Bacola Closcius, proprietor of the South Wall, I headed into the poorest quarter of Balmora in search of the old sugar-tooth.

Caius answered his door and admitted me to a mean little apartment. He was shirtless and rumpled, and the room is furnished in minimal junkiness, prominently featuring a skooma pipe that looked heavily used and hastily hidden, poorly. Without giving any details I suggested that I had been sent to Balmora to seek him out. He expressed surprise that anyone would be that interested in an 'old man with a skooma problem', and frankly I was getting more surprised by the minute myself. With some reservations I handed over the package of documents.

As he rapidly scanned the first page, apparently decoding it in his head, he seemed to transform in front of my stunned eyes. What had seemed a somewhat shrunken old man was a product of magnificent muscle and breath control. With a full breath and a release of the calculated slackness Caius became an obviously fit, well muscled man who I would definitely not want to take on hand to hand. The puzzled and diffident expression fell from his features, replaced by a confident and powerful presence that filled the small room seemingly beyond its capacity, and when our conversation resumed it was clear that his reach did extend far, far beyond the scarred stone walls.

With no further dissembling Caius introduced himself as the Emperor's man in Morrowind, spymaster of the Blades, the Emperor's hidden eyes and ears throughout the provinces. For reasons unknown to me, and also to Caius though the rest of the documents I delivered may make them clear, the Emperor directed him to induct me into this organization, and I am now a novice in His Magesty's intelligence service under the orders of Caius Cosades. When he asked if I was ready to follow his orders there was some question in my mind, but I showed no reservation. I don't know what would have happened had I refused to serve, though I have to wonder if I would have left the room alive.

My first instructions as a member of the Blades were certainly easy enough to take, especially since they were accompanied by two hundred gold drakes. Some of the Blades maintain an open presence, providing services and contact points. Caius gave me a list of some of these stationed throughout Vvardenfell district, which is apparently my turf, and directed me to meet them as soon as possible. I am to meet them quietly, as I am not to be one of these openly acknowledged support personnel. He gave me some suggestions on establishing a cover identity, and my head is still swirling from the complexity of the tapestry of politics and society here in Morrowind. In addition to the usual Guilds, Morrowind politics are dominated by clan affiliations, culminating in five 'great houses'. I will be moving cautiously in aligning myself with any particular threads. At least some knowledge of the weave seems necessary first, for my own survival.

While Caius definitely agreed with my circumspect intentions, he suggested that the benefits of membership in the Mage's Guild and its generally loose structure would suit my immediate needs. The local Guild Steward, Ranis Athrys, welcomed me to the ranks. Not warmly or enthusiastically, but access to the guild hall supply chest and a bed in the sleeping area rewarded me tangibly if not with freindship. Caius suggested that Ranis' apprentice, Ajira, would probably be a better contact. Being an outlander herself she is certainly likely to be less stiff with me, though the cat-people of Khajiit province are not obviously warm to my own Breton origins either. I met her briefly, but it was already late by the time I got down to the guild hall's main rooms, which are in the basement, and it has been a long day. I will take on establishing myself with my guildmates in the morning.

_**Day Nine: Taking cover in the Mage's Guild**_

A very successful trip has boosted my confidence, and on the morrow I will return to the scene of my near demise, the old Dunmer tomb with it's undead guardians. Besides a boost in confidence, my trip has left me much better equipped for the challenge. My blunted spear has been replaced with an enchanted spear that will pierce even the ghostly plane of my spectral assailants. One of my Blades compatriots provided a steel breastplate to replace the iron that I found in the smuggler's cave, and from another I purchased, at a striking discount, some fast acting restoratives to heal my wounds. I also put together a complete alchemist's laboratory and refined some other restoratives for myself to quickly remedy the fatigue of my journeys. Overall, it is a new man these fell creatures shall be facing!

In addition to my physical acquisitions I thoroughly enjoyed my day with the mages of Balmora. I cannot say that they would all consider me a friend yet, but they definitely accepted me into their circle. I demonstrated an eagerness to learn, vastly expanding my arsenal of spells, and did not stint on passing out the gold drakes in my gratitude for their teaching. Ajira did turn out to be most welcoming, and connected me to the Khajiit network. The cat-people are known for their taste for moon sugar, and Ajira and a local trader, Ra'Virr, purchased all that I had. Ra'Virr also has a connection among the Telvanni that supplies him with exceptional enchanted weapons at a remarkably good price, and I am very pleased with the devil spear he provided.

I would cheerfully help Ajira with a small favor she asked of me, even if it wasn't considered my duty as an Associate in the guild. She is conducting a study of the alchemical powers of the local fungi, and when she heard that I was returning to the swamps of the Bitter Coast asked me to pick up some samples for her. As she is the Guild Steward's apprentice, I expect doing a small favor for her will carry the weight of a larger favor for someone else. The Mage's Guild seems to operate very much on personalities and relationships rather than real objective rules.

The Blades, on the other hand, are a well organized, almost military operation. In meeting my new fellows I was honestly impressed with their immediate response to me. I get the feeling that they would have given me the exact same welcome if I was an Imperial native of Cyrodiil or an Argonian lizard man fresh from the swamps of Black Marsh. Actually, one of my new compatriots is an Argonian, though he certainly did not just crawl out of the swamps. He lives in a sturdy house in Balmora; not in the best part of town, but better situated than Caius' scruffy abode. Nine-Toes has been assigned to map the Bitter Coast region. He continued my introduction to the world of the spy by informing me he does not know why this mapping is called for, and he does not ask. The only reason he informed me of his task at all was that he considered it a possibility that I could assist him, which I will happily do. I can continue my explorations as part of my studies with the Mage's Guild, which will enhance my own cover, and at the same time build my reputation in the Blades by quietly reporting to Nine-Toes.

For now though, it is good to retire to my own cot once again. I must be well rested for tomorrow's foray into the depths!

_**Day Ten: Tomb Raider**_

I rose early and refreshed. The day dawned gray and rainy, which I have accepted as the norm for the Bitter Coast. It's only water, and I tell myself that the rain drumming on the shells of the mudcrabs makes it easier to sneak up on them. The humor being that if it was any easier to sneak up on a mudcrab they would have to be presenting themselves on their backs in front of me. For the most part they seem to depend for safety on their appearance, which is very much like a medium size boulder. A good crab will yield a couple pounds of succulent flesh and they continue to be the staple of my diet, and I am also now using crab meat to concoct my restoratives.

I followed the beach around the bay to my date with the undead. Wanting to be as fully prepared as possible before entering the crypt, I activated my devil spear and hooked a curative potion to my belt for quick access. When activated the devil spear harnesses the power of a captive Daedric spirit, becoming supernaturally sharp and also light as my writing quill in my hands. It also briefly surrounds me in crackling electrical energies which help to shield me. So armed I burst through the door. My nemesis, the skeletal archer, unleashed a torrent of arrows as I charged, most of which were deflected by the devil spear's magic. The shaft of my spear I braced under my arm, and I allowed my steel breastplate to build momentum as I hurtled down the stairs on the bare edge of control. Forsaking a final shot the skeleton tried to dodge, but with the barest flick of adjustment my point followed its frantic movement and struck home, splintering ancient ribs and shattering the magical articulations of the creature. Seeing that the fallen monster was trying to regather itself to rise I swung my weapon to and fro, scattering bones until they fell to dust.

As I recovered my breath I surveyed the chamber. Two stone altars flanked a triangular shrine at the further end of the room, and I edged cautiously around a central support pillar for a closer look. Guttering torches lit my way. Mounted in brackets on the walls and central pillar, they burn with the ancestral energy of the tomb and require no fuel. When I tried to remove one it was extinguished, only to light again when restored to its proper place. A chill ran briefly down my spine, and I turned a wary eye on a wooden door, behind which lay I knew not what. On the altars stood great burial urns, one on the left and two on the right. The two on the right were a matched set, and I assume they held a husband and wife. The decorated face of the shrine depicted Saint Veloth, an illustrious ancestor god of the Dunmer Temple, and identified the tomb as belonging to the Thelas clan. I opted not to further disturb the Thelas ancestral spirits by removing the bonemeal from the urns, but did sift through it quickly with an arrow shaft to check for any useful items or jewelry.

In fairly short order I realized that I was scuffing about in this outer chamber not because I expected to find anything of value, but because I was delaying my entry into the inner crypt. Once again I activated the devil spear, and standing slightly to the side yanked open the door. A howling spirit burst upon me immediately, and its spectral face showed bleak surprise as it impaled itself on my spear. The feeling was quite uncanny. In my hands the spear was solid, but at its tip it was obviously completely embedded in another plane of existence, a plane where the ghost had real flesh and could be felt pulling down my point with a surprising weight. I had no time to appreciate this oddity, and jerked the Daedric sharpness of the blade free from the once more dead hulk, leaving it to splatter into this earthly plane in a shower of gooey green ectoplasm. Freed, I was able to dive clear of the doorway.

My frantic dive was the result of seeing yet another skeletal archer at the bottom of the stair beyond the door, and I thought that I had moved in time. A searing pain followed instantly by horrible numbness told me otherwise and I crashed to the stone floor in a heap, completely paralyzed by a field of coruscating green magical energies. There are curative potions so powerful that mere possession of them would have given me enough muscle control to gulp it down and be released, but alas I did not have one. Fortunately I had landed out of line with the door and sheltered from further assault. I listened for the sound of bony feet on the stairs, but heard nothing. Apparently once I was out of sight the guardian returned to inert watchfulness.

After some time the magical energies of the arrow dissipated and I rose shakily to my feet. I pulled the spent shaft from my thigh and used my ring to heal the wound. Crouched low, I peered cautiously around the doorframe. As expected, the skeleton stood immobile at the bottom of the stair. Calling upon the magical nature of my Breton heritage I toughened my skin until it resembled dragonscale. Though I can maintain this state only for a brief period I counted on it getting me down the stairs without being paralyzed again. I then cast my most effective spell of concealment and crept through the door.

My most effective spell of concealment is not all that effective, and as I passed the midpoint of the stair the skeleton's empty eye sockets flared with magical life. I again activated the devil spear, adding its protective field to my defenses, and dodging from side to side I bounded down the remaining steps. Arrows scattered, flying wide, caught in the crackling field of the spear, or deflecting off of my armor or hardened skin. The skeleton scrambled back, trying to avoid the reach of my spear while firing wildly. I continued my charge and we rapidly covered the length of the chamber, passing between another pair of urn bearing altars.

At the far end opposite the stair lies a ceremonial fire pit, filled with the ashes and bones of untold generations of clan Thelas. Set in the raised lip of the pit are upturned spears, adorned with skulls. My adversary clattered off one of these as it negotiated the step up, and the devil spear found lodging in the brittle animated bones, crashing my opponent backwards into the soft ash bed. With quick thrusts I sent the creature to rejoin its fellows, just another bunch of undistinguished bones in the pit. As my various protective spells expired I surveyed the chamber, noting with a significant easing of tension that there were no more doors.

Catching my eye immediately was a softly glowing scroll lying next to one of the urns. The scroll will be useful I'm sure, as it holds powerful mystic energies which will transport the reader instantly to the nearest Dunmer Temple. This bit of magic would be the major prize for my troubles here. Apparently clan Thelas is not wealthy. I carefully picked the locks on two chests set near the pit, but found only small trinkets of minimal value. Of Mentor's lost ring there was no sign.

I emerged from the tomb into a rainy afternoon, disappointed but in good health and definitely the better for the experience. The mouth of the tomb opens directly onto the shore, sheltered by two small islands that lie across a narrow straight. When I stepped out a large mudcrab on the nearest isle yanked its legs underneath itself and did its best to become just another stone. I waded across, dispatched the crab, and resolved to explore the two islands and collect any useful plant materials I could find. After skewering a number of mudcrabs, slaughterfish, and cliff racers, with my pack bulging with leaves, stems and fungi, I called it a good day's work.

Standing in the pouring rain, with the sun settling in the west, I gave myself a moment of smug satisfaction. Among the new spells I learned in Balmora are some mystical travelers aids that I was very pleased to learn. Last night I cast a spell here in the shack that placed a magical mark upon it. There on the beach I hefted my pack and cast a related spell which would return me to the exact spot where I had cast the mark...in theory. After repeated attempts, with my magical energies too depleted to try again, I set out on the long trudge through the rain. The school of mysticism has never been my forte. I arrived late, wet and tired, and will sleep well in my cot this night.

_**Day Eleven: Lost to the slaughterfish**_

Today was a total loss. When I arose this morning I was thinking of myself quite differently. The tomb that had so nearly claimed me was now covered with a glossy success, and I felt like I had the Bitter Coast spread helplessly at my feet, ready for me to wander around drawing maps and collecting whatever caught my eye or fancy. What a difference a day makes.

One of the spells that I learned in Balmora allows me to breath water. It is a simple spell from the school of alteration, in which I have a fair degree of skill. I learned this spell with three things in mind; the deeper water kollop beds, a couple of submerged caves that I've noticed, and an old shipwreck lying across the bay to the southeast. As I stepped out the door this morning the shipwreck seemed most interesting, and I set off across the bay, swimming at a leisurely pace.

By the time I reached the further shore I had completely expended the healing powers of my ring, and was bleeding from several slaughterfish bites. They came at me in a steady stream, one by one or in pairs, and my leisurely swim turned into a tiresome gauntlet. As fish after fish died on my spear I kept thinking they would catch on and start avoiding me, but they are relentless. I crawled onto the beach and tried to rest.

My rest was repeatedly disturbed by mudcrabs, apparently emboldened by my stillness and the smell of blood. The afternoon wore on. Nothing was getting accomplished. I spent my ring's energy as fast as it accumulated. Although I didn't get anywhere near full recovery I finally set off hiking to reach the nearest point to my derelict target. I arrived at a small beach littered with flotsam from the wreck and scanned the sea. The waters near the wreck were teeming with slaughterfish!

I stepped into the lapping waters of the Inner Sea and lay about me with my spear. I tried to kill the slaughterfish faster than they could gather, and whipped the water into a bloody froth, but soon had to retreat onto the beach with numerous fresh bites weakening me even further. The mass of fish was so great that I could stand on the beach and spear those closest to shore as their escape was prevented by their later arriving fellows pressing in on them. In my weakened condition with no healing magic available I could only glare at the fish, and I saluted the shipwreck which defied investigation for another day.

Clearly I was in no shape to swim back, and I had no zest for the long walk around the bay. Gathering my magical energies together I cast a spell which stiffens the water underfoot, allowing me to make the much shorter walk across the bay safely above the realm of the fish. I set out, with my first step onto the water being taken gingerly; then with growing confidence I just walked over the backs of my swarming enemies and out to sea.

At the end of a day like today it is hard not to challenge my lot in life. The Emperor chose me for the Blades without explanation. Do I owe it to him to accept? I am released from imprisonment and free to make my own way. I could just as easily catch a ship and return to High Rock. Life among my fellow Bretons would certainly be simpler. I don't have the coin for passage though. Perhaps tomorrow I will consider selling off my goods and heading home.

A late addendum.

My fate may no longer be in the Emperor's hands, or my own. I have to assume that whatever my mission it is somehow at the source of the Dark Brotherhood's interest in me, and I doubt that returning to High Rock would take me off of their list. The precautions I have taken against them may have saved my life tonight, but I would be loath to maintain them forever.

Before laying my weary head to pillow I placed a plate balanced on edge upon a crossmember of the door. While my shack of bare planks crudely nailed together may not be fashionable, the door with its accessible construction does have advantages. When the plate crashed to the floor in the depths of the night I had just sufficient time to grab my spear before the assassin was upon me. Although the confines of my home are close, I was able to stay out of range of his dagger well enough and laid him low with my much longer reach. These members of the Dark Brotherhood are not as fearsome as I was led to believe, but I am concerned.

This second attacker was no more skilled than the first. As long as they do not catch me soundly sleeping and plunge their dagger through my throat I am more than a match for them. There is a question, though. Is this all they have? I must guess not, for the Dark Brotherhood did not build their reputation on the likes of these. I suspect that killing me is for them like gathering mushrooms is for the Mage's Guild; a task for the novice. With the death of this second agent I may have sent a message most undesirable, and started an even more powerful foe down the inexorable path to my door.

_**Day Twelve: The shipwreck**_

I awoke this morning before dawn, driven by my need for some sort of healing magic. I am not very skilled with restorations, but Arrille at the tradehouse knows a fairly simple healing spell that I should be able to master. Being a trader, however, he will require compensation for his time to teach me this spell. I have accumulated quite a supply of alchemical ingredients, some of which are quite valuable. Rather than surrender them I settled in with my own lab, determined to make something valuable out of the more common ingredients that I have in abundant supply.

Interesting how magical energies collect in the flesh of ordinary creatures. The scrib is a large insect, the young form of a kwama actually; kwama being almost man sized from what I hear. The shell of the scrib is filled with a jelly substance, which is edible and in fact quite tasty. This jelly is known to boost a persons will, enabling them to better control and resist many magical energy forms. Today I found that when mixed with juices extracted from the meat of the local rats this jelly forms a potent restorative that will negate magical poisons. I only succeeded in making one flask of this antidote, and I will be keeping it for my own use.

I continued my experiments more profitably. The foragers who scavenge the areas around a kwama nest often have a coating of a waxy substance known as cuttle. I had sensed a magical property in this cuttle and have been collecting it whenever a forager tried to scavenge me to take back to the nest. Thinning this cuttle with a light oil and mixing in scales from the slaughterfish (which I have in a discouraging abundance) I created a fluid which when applied to the feet will recreate the effects of my own waterwalking spell for a brief period. While it will not last long enough for a stroll around the bay it will certainly be of value for crossing the narrow straits between islands here in the lowlands of the Bitter Coast, and Arrille cheerfully traded his time for a few vials of this.

Armed with my new healing capabilities and a good amount more caution I set out for the shipwreck. I walked, on land, the long way around. Giving up my previous complaints I took the opportunity to map this part of the coast thoroughly. Nine-Toes will be pleased. I have a complete map of the area southeast of Seyda Neen, all the way to the bridge on the Ebonheart road which crosses into the Ascadian Isles region. In the process I found an egg mine, where the eggs of the kwama are harvested for food and trade. I considered checking on the availability of scrib jelly and kwama cuttle, but there was no one about the entrance and I did not want to take the time to delve inside.

Eventually I arrived back at the littered beach near the stern of the grounded hulk. She lies almost completely on her side with her decks to the sea, about three quarters submerged. After killing the first wave of slaughterfish I clambered up onto the exposed hull and walked her length. The perspective was strange, standing on the hull looking almost straight down the deck into the water. Right at the waterline a door to the stern cabin hung loosely, moving with the swirling currents. Its hinges, which had been on the left side, now held the panel of the door from the top. Further forward a deck hatch also swayed rhythmically. In the almost vertical deck the weight of the hatch no longer held it firmly closed and through it the ship seemed to breathe, exhaling as the small swells ebbed away, the hatch thumping closed with the next swell. I considered whether it was really prudent to enter that maw.

I cast a series of spells, allowing me to breathe water throughout my explorations of the ship. I started with the aft cabin, dropping into the water and scrambling quickly through the door. Inside, the sideways angle of the ship was even more disorienting. As I climbed out I was welcomed by a gathering of slaughterfish which I dispatched, but only after I was bleeding from several more bites. These wretched creatures are the most cursed aspect of my life in Vvardenfell. I returned to the beach, had a lunch of crab meat, and used my new healing spell to recover my well being.

Gathering my courage I again plunged off the hull. As a swell exhaled from the interior of the wreck I propped the hatch with my spear and rode the next swell inside. Through the water I could feel the thud of the hatch closing behind me and fear closed in as well. The boards of the hull had dried and warped where they were above water, and light filtered through, but the interior was still dark and gloomy. Once again I found it disorienting, and the movement of floating crates and barrels did not help. I studied the tangles of wreckage with a chilling premonition.

My fascination with the shipwreck proved worthwhile. Though the cargo was of no particular value in its waterlogged state I recovered two crates of food from the galley and some odd bits of armor. I also learned the value of maintaining my composure. In making my way back to the hatch I got tangled in a snarl of ropes and broken planks. The more I struggled the more enmeshed I became, and I knew that even though my water breath spell doesn't take all that much magica I would eventually run out and drown. Operating underwater, with my legs tangled in the wreckage, I calmly transferred all my newly acquired goods to my pack and released the crates to make their own way. Blotting my previous failure from my memory I completed the gestures perfectly and found myself standing at my appointed mark in my own shack. Seawater sluiced from my clothes as I collapsed with relief.

While I may have yet to master the school of mysticism, I do feel more the master of myself as I lay down to sleep tonight.

_**Day Thirteen: Bowhunter**_

Ah, the simple joys of hunting! My alchemy experiments have depleted my food reserves, and I thought that a day of mapping the coast could easily replenish them. It also gave me a good chance to refresh my skills with the bow. While I was fairly accomplished with the bow and arrows in the old days in High Rock I have not drawn since my imprisonment. A longbow recovered from the skeletons of Tharys tomb in hand I set out before dawn.

I am very pleased with the effectiveness of the restoratives that I have brewed. I can run all day. Hunting with the bow also helps, since I more often make a stealthy approach so I can launch a telling shot. When hunting in Vvardenfell with a spear there is no call for stealth. Creatures here do not flee from the hunter. Even rats will charge a man. Of course the rats here are about two feet long, not counting the tail, and more often then not I have had to dispatch them with my spear even after burying a stout iron broadhead in the breast of a charging rat. The flying cliff racers also get all the more fierce when wounded.

I have traveled far, and I am camping out tonight on an island. Early this morning yet another assassin invaded my house, and I am beginning to think it would be wise to move. I would like to complete my maps of the area around Seyda Neen, and today I took the road northwest all the way to the river Odai, then turned and followed the river downstream to its mouth. Turning back towards Seyda Neen along the coast I completed a circumnavigation of the coastal mountains . How I will complete mapping them I do not know, as they are very steep in many places.

At the base of those mountains lies the second tomb that I found. I am not ready to take on another round of spirits and skeletons in search of Mentor's ring, and now have found yet another tomb on this island. I must either take another trip to Balmora to replenish my supply of healing potions or learn to brew my own. Though my healing magic is potent, it is not a spell I would like to try to cast in the thick of battle. For now I will enjoy sleeping in the bracing sea air. The Bitter Coast has surprisingly cooperated by providing a clear night sky.

_**Day Fourteen: Day in the lab**_

Tomorrow looks like a great day for a trip to Balmora. I put some coin in my pocket today; more than enough to cover expenses. I spent the long afternoon in my laboratory resting weary feet. I have completed tasks to report, goods to sell, and questions to ask. I have secured my door with the usual measures and look forward to a sound sleep, hopefully uninterrupted by the Dark Brotherhood.

I was awakened before dawn this morning by the settling mists of the Bitter Coast. While I enjoyed my night out of doors I don't think I want to make a habit of it. I skewered a fresh mudcrab for breakfast and set to rummaging the island for useful plants. By mid-morning I had explored most thoroughly and also stuffed my pack. To my surprise I found that I was sharing the island with what I assume is a smuggling operation. A well concealed cave on the north end of the island showed signs of recent occupation. Among other things to be done in Balmora I want to find out from Caius and Nine-Toes exactly what the Blades stance on smugglers is. I may come back and try to join them, or I might try raiding their cave.

With my bulging pack I headed across the water for home, making a fairly quick trip of it. While I was not actively hunting, the regular swamp denizens were, and I did add slightly to my already burdensome load. I also had a chance to use another of my newly learned applications of the mystic arts, which went surprisingly well. One of the soul gems I picked up is now charged with the life force of a cliff racer. Although it is of limited power this gem can now be used to enchant a weapon or other item. I will definitely check with Galbedir the enchantress tomorrow when I arrive at the guild hall to see what can be made of this.

The afternoon passed peacefully and profitably. I am becoming more skilled at refining my invigorating elixers, and sold half a dozen flasks to Arrille when I went to the tradehouse for dinner. Making large batches of potions of course makes for some lulls, and I spent those well experimenting with the wide array of plant, animal, and mineral substances that I have found to contain some trace elements of magic. The most interesting effect I found today came from a combination of juices from the meat of a nix-hound and one of the fungi I collected for Ajira. This odd concoction heightened my magical sense to a shocking degree, lending the mundane substance of the world a degree of transparency through which enchanted items shone clearly. I'm sure this will be most useful in my future tomb raids, as any locked or secret compartment containing an enchanted item will be clearly revealed. What I brewed up today had such limited range that I opted to sell it to Arrille, but noted the recipe for future refinements. Perhaps I will upgrade some of my laboratory equipment.

Tomorrow promises to be a busy day, and I will enjoy resting in my own cot tonight. This trip to Balmora may be more than an overnight stay.

_**Day Fifteen: Student of history**_

I arrived by the early morning strider, and quickly made my way here to deliver Ajira's mushrooms. She was very grateful, and presented me with healing potions, exactly what I needed most! Her skills do not yet match Tyermaillin's, and these are not as powerful as his, but they will surely be useful and I expressed my own deepest gratitude to her. As I had hoped she also gave a glowing recommendation to her mentor, and Ranis Athrys has promoted me to Apprentice rank.

I made the rounds, greeting my fellows and receiving their congratulations and expanding what I hope to eventually call friendships. The diversity of the guild is truly a joy, with Khajiit and Bosmer, Dunmer and Imperial, even an Orc, all working together. My own Breton heritage seems to complement the mix and they certainly make me welcome. I picked up good advice for my first major project here in the city as well, and then spent the rest of the day on that; learning more about the assassins that plague my steps.

The Dark Brotherhood, I have found, has a deeply bitter enemy in an organization called the Morag Tong. The Morag Tong is also a guild of assassins for hire, however they operate only here in Morrowind and are governed by a tight body of ancient customs as well as law. To my surprise they are completely legitimate under Morrowind law and operate openly here in Balmora from a guild house in the best part of town. I went there with some trepidation, but ended up spending most of the day with Gilyan Sedas, a well mannered Dunmer who is far more openly friendly to an outlander such as myself than many that I have met. When I asked his trade he answered with complete nonchalance that he is indeed an assassin. He is quite proud of his standing in the Morag Tong, and excellent company.

With Gilyan's assistance I successfully marketed the black armor to every armorer in town, completely draining their coffers. In all three shops as they were making repairs, I noted that minor alterations were being made. In every case there was no intention to resell the fine black mail. Every armorer in Balmora is now clad in as much of the Dark Brotherhood chain as they could afford, leaving me with a full set for myself, some extra pieces, and a substantial weight of gold coin. Through the day Gilyan also taught me a great deal about how to take best advantage of this light armor, and I am wearing most of a set under my formal robes now.

This evening I spent reading here in the hall. Prompted I suppose by being in the Emperor's service, I was inclined to study some Imperial history, and on a couple of recommendations took up k'Thojj's 'Brief History of the Empire'. Brief is of course relative, and this work of four volumes would merit more than an evening's study for a historian. For a former villain forcibly retired into His Majesty's intelligence corps an evening was sufficient. I have a feel for how Uriel Septim VII came to be the emperor and the forces that would keep him there or remove him. I also noted that on more than one occasion the Dark Brotherhood was instrumental in the imperial succession. Clearly the ties that bind me, the Emperor, and the assassins guild have a weight of history behind them.

I feel safe sleeping here tonight, but wonder if even the security of the guild hall will be sufficient if the higher ranks of the Dark Brotherhood come to bear upon me.

_**Day Sixteen: Intriguing mages**_

The ways of mages astound me. It becomes more and more clear to me that the guild runs on personalities, petty alliances, and intrigue. I am very comfortable here, unlike my home in Seyda Neen, which has obviously been marked as a regular stopover for passing assassins or sleeping in the wilderness with a wary eye for rats, crabs and other scavengers who can't tell sleeping from dead. But comfort I think would have a cost. By maintaining myself as a visitor rather than a resident I can hopefully avoid becoming too embroiled in the cheerful infighting, if I haven't already.

I awoke this morning among my fellows, who were bustling about getting on with the business of the day. As I left the breakfast table Ajira approached me, slipping a soul gem into my palm. I sensed mischief afoot, and wondered if there was a diplomatic way to stay out of it given that Ranis has me somewhat assigned to helping the wily Khajiit. What I was trying to avoid was getting involved in Ajira's bet with Galbedir. Khajiit and Bosmer have warred on and off throughout history, and here in the guild this battle has been reduced from violence to a steady bickering. Mostly reduced anyway, according to the Orc Sharn gra-Muzgob the debate escalated not long ago to erupt in battling atronachs conjured from the elemental fire plane. There was no avoiding Ajira's feline hiss. My new assignment was to secrete the gem in Galbedir's desk. It is a fake, and will likely throw one of Galbedir's assignments into complete disarray. I had a tough time with sabotaging Galbedir. Like all Bosmer she is very open with her feelings, and when a wood elf likes you you know you are liked. Galbedir likes me, and in two visits to Balmora she has been probably the friendliest person in town. I justified my actions by telling myself that she did do her part in causing the rivalry with Ajira, and the current bet over which would make journeyman rank first was what really opened up this can of worms. I'm just the latest worm in the fray, so to speak.

I did complete the task, slipping the stone into Galbedir's desk, but partly in atonement and partly because she really is a good enchanter I probably overpaid her for helping me enchant my belt. Even though my gem with the cliff racer's energy is not all that powerful we put almost twice as much healing magic in the belt as my ring could manage. The belt will serve me well, and the practice and sale will look good for her. Hopefully she won't mention who the buyer was, at least for a while. Perhaps I can tell Ajira that I was making the purchase to distract her while I placed the gem.

No matter how the plotting of the bettors turned out, I thought it best to be out of the guild hall, and under the pretext of picking up healing potions from Tyermaillin I reported to my contacts in the Blades. Again I got the potions at a terrific discount, and Tyermaillin gave me a small pouch of coins to deliver for him to Nine-Toes, ostensibly as payment for some ingredients he wanted from the Argonian hunter. With that as an excuse I could stop at his house without raising questions.

Nine Toes was very pleased with my additions to his maps, and agreed that it was probably time for me to leave Seyda Neen. The next village up the coast is called Hla Oad. It is nothing but a tiny fishing village and I don't know if I will even be able to find lodgings there, but it should offer me some shelter from the assassins, at least for a while. With Hla Oad as a destination Nine Toes also suggested that I see Larrius Varro, champion of the Imperial Legion garrison at the nearby fort. Fort Moonmoth lies a short hike beyond the city walls, and I sauntered out the gates enjoying the bright midday sun.

Larrius Varro greeted me warmly, though obviously he is burdened with his duties. Maintaining Imperial law in a region dominated by the 'business first' leadership of the Dunmer great house Hlaalu must be quite challenging. When he heard that I was considering a hunting expedition to Hla Oad he requested that I ease some of that burden for him. Apparently some Nord bandit has declared the local roads to be his private tollways, and Varro suggested, in a roundabout way, that even though it was officially the Legion's problem to deal with he would welcome any unfortunate accident that might befall this Nord. Again I find myself questioning my motivations. There was a time not long ago where I would have praised the Nord for his ingenuity, as long as I could slip by without paying him overmuch. Now I seem constantly coming down on the side of the authorities.

I returned to the guild hall as evening fell, and enjoyed a hearty meal and good company. Ajira has moved on from fungus to flowers, and gave me a new list of ingredients she would like me to find. The undercurrent strains among the apprentices provided much amusement, and I considered betting that I would be a journeyman before either of them. As the newest member I thought better of it, but I'm sure it gives my Breton ancestors a chuckle as I head for bed.

_**Day Seventeen: No home for me**_

So much for moving to Hla Oad. That town demonstrates the cuddly warmth of a mudcrab. I am bedding down on board the Harpy as a passenger of the shipmaster Baleni Salavel, bound for Gnaar Mok. It seemed a better choice than trying to make camp in the dark.

I arose before dawn, eager to start wrapping things up in Seyda Neen. I even squandered precious magica to transport myself using my recall spell rather than taking the strider. Stowing my city clothes and gathering my travel gear took only a few minutes and I headed out to Hla Oad, planning to accomplish two things along the way. It is certainly time for me to move on. I found myself studying the faces of anyone who was out at that hour. Who was surprised to see me? Were they just surprised because no one saw me return, but here I was walking out of my shack? Or was there something sinister, perhaps a watcher for the Dark Brotherhood? I must move on before I start killing people for looking at me strangely in the street.

By mid-morning I had arrived at my first objective, the tomb. I had first found this tomb the same day I found the Tharys family crypt, and remember thinking on the day I first entered that subterranean nightmare that I would explore them both in one day also. Then I learned first hand about skeleton archers and ancestral spirits. Today I learned firsthand about another undead guardian in the tombs of the Dunmer. I don't know if these horrors are constructs of the interred dead, or the lingering remainders of previous tomb robbers. They walk, shambling in a misshapen human way. Skin hangs from them in patches, but they are mostly made up of the naked muscle, oozing fluids that glisten in the torchlight. In places there are protrusions of bone. They speak in guttural moans and gurgles from their wasted throats, emitting harrowing curses that left me weakened and discouraged. In the first chamber of the tomb I was set upon by a pair of these terrifying monsters, and before my wildly thrusting spear could dispatch them they were joined by another, and then another.

Are they constructs, made from the flesh of the dead? When they are struck by a weapon it seems their flesh parts easily, but wounds do not slow them. Only the enchanted devil spear was effective, and it battered through not their flesh, but a magical binding energy that I believe gives them life. Amidst their decaying flesh I found soul gems, which could be the core around which the flesh is bound. I wonder though if that is truly their origin, because I fear I may have been on the way to becoming one. I seem to have contracted something, from contact or their curses. I felt weak, exhausted, and it appeared as if my skin was beginning to grow soft and rotten, taking on a brownish tone. I could imagine, if allowed to continue, that it would soon be hanging in ragged strips much like the skin of my adversaries. I quickly used a curative spell from a scroll, which solved the problem, but I wonder if without that restorative magic I would have ended up a replacement for the guardians I had dispatched.

Like the first, this tomb contains a shrine to Saint Veloth. There are other similarities in construction and the burial process, with large urns supported on block shaped altars used to inter the dead and numerous upturned spears sporting the ancestral skulls. There are differences though, in the size and layout of the tomb. The Samarys clan, to which this tomb belongs, is apparently larger and wealthier than the Tharys clan. The burial urns are for more numerous, somewhat crowding a double entry chamber connected by a short hall. In the second entry chamber I found the shrine, and a door to the innermost crypt. When I opened the door I was beset by a skeleton warrior, this one armed with a broadsword and shield, who I calmly dispatched. After the horrors I had faced a skeleton warrior just did not seem as much of a problem as in my previous encounters. The shorter reach of the broadsword offered ample opportunity to drive my spear through its defenses and it was soon reduced to a pile of dust and bones.

In a place of honor at the far end of the inner crypt, alone on a stone alter, stands an ornate burial urn lidded with a seal promising serious damage to the unwary. I tripped the trap with a well insulated iron probe I carry just for such occasions and let the energies dissipate harmlessly. The inscriptions on the urn identified the contents as one 'Lord Brinne', and the local spectral population murmured their displeasure as I poked through the distinguished ashes. Buried in the ashes I found an ornate ring set with purple stones. Could this be the lost Mentor's Ring? Cautiously I placed the ring on my finger and immediately I could feel the powerful magic that gave it its name. My will and intellect have been augmented, giving me greater access to and control over all areas of spellcasting. My first intended task of the day was complete, and a resounding success.

From that time to this nothing has gone well. Every attempt to climb into the coastal mountains behind the tomb was thwarted by their steep slopes. All afternoon I circled, trying from every side, following narrow ledges, leaping for imagined footholds. As the sun dipped in the west I conceded defeat and followed the road towards my destination. In the gathering darkness I lost the track more than once, and were it not for a seemingly endless flock of cliff racers I would probably have just made camp. Pressing on I arrived at Hla Oad, only to find that the local tradehouse is a front operation for a criminal syndicate known as the Cammona Tong, everyone in town knows it and no one cares, and as a non-member I was about as welcome as a stray slaughterfish in a bathing trough. Fortunately I found the Harpy ready to set sail, and took passage more for the bunk than the transport.

_**Day Eighteen: Breeding netch**_

Gnaar Mok may not be the most hospitable place in the world, but after Hla Oad it's nice to have a place to lay my head. The trade house here is called the Druegh-jigger's Rest, and is apparently named for some local sea creature. When the Harpy docked with the dawn I was not received with open arms, but presenting myself as a simple hunter who had been basically run out of Hla Oad got me directed to the Rest.

In addition to its other functions, the Rest serves as a gathering place for the thieve's guild, whose main operative locally is a Khajiit called Wadarkhu. He is gruff, and the way the others talk about him he is strong medicine. Apparently strong medicine is needed here. The thieve's guild is embroiled in a major gang war with the well entrenched Cammona Tong. The Tong is Morrowind local, almost exclusively Dunmer as far as I've seen, and heavy on bigoted posturing. I don't think my cover in the Mages Guild or my service to the Emperor would be served by involving myself directly with the Thieves Guild, but I'm starting think that any of these Cammona Tong that get belligerent with me I'm just going to skewer. If for no better reason than that they are heavily into the slave trade.

I kept my opinions on the Tong to myself mostly, but did curry some favor with Wadarkhu. When he saw I was a hunter he took an interest, and told me about a recent attack his boat had suffered from a pair of netch. I've seen these huge creatures floating in the air, but they have always seemed very docile. Wadarkhu informs me that when they breed they become aggressive and dangerous, and apparently this breeding pair has staked out a territory north of town. I gathered as much information as I could before setting out. The larger netch, with six powerful tentacles dangling from an oval gasbag, is the bull, and will fire bolts of magical poison before closing to attack. The round betty netch is more aggressive, though smaller and with only four tentacles.

Armed with my bow, my poison antidote, my new knowledge, and the best wishes of the locals I set off to the north. It did not take long to identify the culprits. While most netch drift slowly along the breeding pair was jetting around in a jagged pattern. I circled patiently. The opportunity I looked for was to have the two netch separated by a significant distance, and headed in opposite directions. In their random charges they eventually complied and I sprinted to intercept the bull, which was nearest.

I did not get very close, and skidded to a halt nocking an arrow. Aiming high on the gasbag I released, and quickly drew and fired again. One arrow thumped harmlessly off the heavy hide, but the other pierced through and the netch jerked in the air, tentacles flailing as it turned. I started running. I made a couple of erratic moves and used trees for cover as much as possible to spoil the beast's aim. Success. My maneuvering and the pursuit brought me and the netch very close together without any poison bolts fired, and I dodged through the battering tentacles while stabbing up through the softer underside with my spear. With a loud sigh of escaping gas the netch settled to earth, dead I suppose, but I ran my spear through it several times to be sure.

While making sure of the bull I kept a wary eye in the direction of the betty, who had stopped dashing about and was turning in slow circles. Obviously she was looking for the bull, but had not seen him drop through the tree cover. I sighted carefully and launched an arrow, then another, and another. The betty netch either had a tougher hide or is just a lot more durable. My arrows did not slow the creature's charge for an instant. Again I tried to make use of the trees, but this netch was faster and more maneuverable. As our courses converged I called once more on my Breton heritage and toughened my hide for the beating I could surmise was inevitable. I barely completed the spell before I was engulfed in a swirl of thrashing tentacles. As I ducked and rolled I unslung my new steel halberd. The blade left deep gashes in tentacles as I drove the point up into the gasbag hovering above with rapid strokes. More than once I was knocked off my feet, but always I kept my point up, holding the monster off as I gathered myself to continue the fray. Suddenly, with a bursting rush of gas, the full weight of the creature was falling on me! I braced the butt of my halberd on the ground and angled the falling mass away with the blade to avoid being crushed beneath it. After untangling myself and my battered halberd from the sprawling tentacles and flattened gasbag of the netch I healed myself with my belt, cut out some large patches of quality netch leather, and returned to Gnaar Mok.

Having resolved a problem for them the locals greeted my return with much greater appreciation, and I was grateful for their hospitality. I will be bunking in a hammock in the Rest tonight, and I cannot imagine the Dark Brotherhood finding me in this remote corner of the Bitter Coast.

_**Day Nineteen: A new home**_

Tonight I am once again sleeping in the security of a ship at sea. It is not as comfortable this time. The shipmaster Valveli Arelas runs a tight ship, but the Priggage is open hulled. I will be bedded down between the thwarts, hoping against the rain. I will probably be a regular passenger, so I'm hoping this first journey goes well.

When I awoke this morning at the Druegh-jigger's Rest I was already considering the possibilities presented by Gnaar Mok. It is so remote that it seems an ideal place to stay out of the path of the Dark Brotherhood. It was a thought, but there were obviously immediate problems with it. The hospitality of the Rest was certainly good...For a night. Probably even for a short stay. Balan the scout and Hinald the pawnbroker had warmed to me nicely even if Wadarkhu was still gruffly tolerant at best. But the Rest could be looked upon as a guild hall for the Thieve's Guild. Unofficial, as is always the case, but already spoken for as a place to reside. Hinald definitely lives there, and for the most part so does Wadarkhu when not on his boat. Without joining the guild I'm sure my welcome would run out quickly.

As I enjoyed the camaraderie this morning I gave some consideration to joining the guild, but again that would conflict with my ultimate aims. It is also clear that the Thieve's Guild is deeply embroiled in a turf war with the Cammona Tong. In Gnaar Mok this isn't just something to consider, it's an every day fact of life that has to be dealt with, and in general there is a consensus that the Thieve's Guild has no chance. The guild has always relied on smooth and skillful operations, and is poorly equipped for a battle with the well established Tong. Even though I will not be joining the guild I will be taking some of the pressure off of my new friends.

Gnaar Mok is located at the narrow waist of a small island, and is connected to the mainland by rough planks for those who want to keep their feet dry, or a short wade for those who don't. In keeping with my guise as a simple hunter I explored the island. I moved carefully at the southern end, site of a cave known as Shurinbaal. This cave is an operating center for smugglers, smugglers who are beholden to the Cammona Tong if not members outright. Enriching myself at their expense would also start shifting the balance in favor of the guild. I took a wary survey and moved on. Now I have to consider whether keeping my own peace with the Tong might be more prudent if I'm going to stay in residence.

Staying in Gnaar Mok became much more attractive in the early afternoon when I discovered an uninhabited shack on a small island to the seaward side of the village proper. The shack is sorely run down, and the mystery of what became of the prior inhabitant may call for some further looking into, but the convenience of his departure is too good to overlook. I placed my magical marker inside, and will use that to transport my laboratory and other possessions from Seyda Neen. Arriving by teleportation in such a remote location should make me very difficult to track.

For now, a good night's sleep.

_**Day Twenty: Dumb as a kagouti**_

Today has been a day of running. My time in Morrowind has certainly improved my conditioning. A steady stream of restoratives helps too. I could jokingly say that I ran like the Dark Brotherhood was chasing me, but I wouldn't be able to laugh. Well, safe here in the guild hall I probably could.

The Priggage docked in Hla Oad shortly before dawn. I had no reason to talk to anyone there, so I set out resolutely for Seyda Neen. On the way I mapped out the area from the village to the river Odai, which seems to be some sort of nesting ground for the cliff racers, which attacked me in swarms. My healing belt served me well, as I could heal near instantly and move on where previously I would have had to seek shelter and rest.

Once I crossed the river I was in familiar territory. As I ran along the base of the coastal mountains a feeling came over me, a strange dissatisfaction. Whatever the purpose of Nine-Toes mapping project it would probably be well enough served by just noting this area as 'mountains, impassable'. That weighed on me though, and a new sense of determination welled up in me. I will survey those mountains. With that determination came the beginnings of the plan which has me here in Balmora tonight.

Driven by my sudden urge for completion I added a brief dash across the water to map out some rocky outcrops visible offshore. They turned out to be barren; too small to serve any useful purpose. Adding them to my map added to my own newfound sense of purpose though, and I was glad to have made the slight detour. After making my landfall I rushed on to Seyda Neen, arriving in time for lunch at the tradehouse.

Having settled on spending a little more time before my move to Gnaar Mok I was faced with the prospect of sleeping in my familiar shack, which I had come to consider as marked with a bullseye on some map in Dark Brotherhood headquarters, wherever that may be. I suppose not wanting to sleep there was at the root of my thoughts over lunch, as reasons to make a trip to Balmora boiled to the surface one after another. Gnaar Mok is even more remote than Seyda Neen, I should get all my spears sharpened before I go. Someone at the Mage's Guild should have some idea about surveying impassable mountains. I have a handful of soul gems charged with the energies of cliff racers, perhaps I could get another item that would turn out as useful as my belt.

With all of those thoughts rushing about my conversation with Raflod and Elone, who are both widely traveled, naturally turned to ways to get to Balmora. My only experience had been taking the silt strider, but the two scouts debated the virtues of the roads and cross country paths they had taken. When Ajira set me to the task of collecting flower samples she had suggested the road to Suran along the shores of Lake Amaya as a good place to look. I already had two of the four she specifically requested, and asked my guides if the various roads they were discussing would lead me to areas likely to yield the others.

Armed with Elone's assurances that I could reach Balmora by nightfall, and likely find Ajira's flowers growing alongside the road, I took off at a steady jog. Heavily laden with all of my spears it was a tiresome run. Since I had no desire to camp in the wilderness tonight I pressed for a fast pace and used restoratives to maintain my energies rather than stopping to catch my breath when I grew fatigued. I also reasoned that any assassin following me out of Seyda Neen would be hard pressed to keep up.

My only respite came when the road was clearly blocked by a fearsome looking creature. I halted some distance away after angling off into some underbrush. The creature stood on two powerfully muscled legs, its oval body suspended between. The hide, mottled on top and creamy white underneath, looked to be very thick but pliable, especially around the leg joints. I surmised that the beast would be surprisingly fast for such a behemoth. A bony pointed snout and two long glistening tusks made me suspect that I would not fare well if it ran me down. I considered working my way around through the brush, but Elone had said there were many roads in the area, and while they are clearly marked at junctions I could get lost if I stumbled out of the brush onto the wrong road. Willing my aim to be steady I stepped out into the road with my bow in my hands.

My aim was true enough to get the monster's attention, but the shot fell higher than I had intended and glanced off the thick hide of its back. It raised its head from its browsing, and uttering a horrible bellow charged down the road. Thankfully, as the creature hurtled down the road it continued to raise its head high to scream out its challenge, exposing the wide pale breast. I buried shot after shot, wondering how much punishment the oncoming horror could withstand. With a final shot I tossed my bow to the ground and quickly unslung the sharpest of my numerous spears. I crashed the butt of the spear into the soil to make a divot and braced it with my foot. Bearing down with all my weight I laid the point low. Without hesitation the snout and tusks passed over the tip, and I leaned quickly to lift it into the belly. The weight of the fast charging beast hit the spear and the impact sent me sprawling to the ground. It also drove the spear completely through to emerge in a gush of blood from the thick hide of the back just above the stubby tail. The entry was a long rip in the softer underbelly, and the beast's entrails glistened in the sunlight as it thrashed on its side in the dirt.

I marveled at the four arrows protruding from the breast, only three of which were mine. The fourth was surrounded by thick scar tissue, a memento of a previous encounter from which the beast obviously learned nothing. This evening, when I was describing the incident to Ajira she laughed her purring Khajiiti laugh and said "now friend Arvil Bren, you know the meaning of the saying 'dumb as a kagouti'." There is a market for kagouti hides, and clearly a market among the kagouti for brains, though they don't know it.

_**Day Twenty-one: The apprentices' bet**_

Today started off with a bang, literally. I bolted out of my bunk, hitting the floor with spear in one hand and a flask of healing restoratives in the other. The Dunmer mage Marayn Dren chuckled from his own bunk. "Well, I certainly feel safe knowing that such an alert guard sleeps among us," he said. "It is only Ajira raging in her laboratory my friend. Lower you spear before someone trying to get out of bed winds up as a breakfast shish

kabob." I laughed out loud myself as I slid the spear back under my bunk. Marayn laughingly agreed with my dry observation that it was better to be embarrassed a hundred times than dead once, and we went to breakfast.

As the mages gathered around the table we were all somewhat daunted by Ajira's snarling and hissing, except Ranis who watched her apprentice with calm detachment. Overcoming the gutterals and screeches of her native tongue Ajira roared out complaints. "I do two reports to her one. I must gather plants from the wildest reaches of the Bitter Coast. Time consuming journeys, terrible risks, while she putters in her shop selling trinkets! And now she has stolen the reports on which I have worked so hard!" Everyone at the table, seeing Galbedir's open Bosmer face twitching to suppress a smile, knew that the accusation was most likely true. Ajira again lapsed into enraged hissing, and I expected spells and bloodshed to erupt at any moment. Chairs scraped as the rest of us prepared to seek shelter.

Ranis' voice cut harshly through the babble, "silence, apprentices!" In the stillness she continued; "the guild hall table will not be reduced to an arena, you will all sit quietly and eat." She glared around the table, meeting every eye with a steady gaze of command. I was quite surprised to see what I thought was amusement when she looked my way, but considered that the red eyes of the Dunmer might have been giving me false impressions. When order was fully restored Ranis spoke again, and this time I was sure there was amusement under her silky tones. "As to this bet, I am going to declare the victor right now so we can have this over with." Ajira and Galbedir edged forward on their seats. The bet being which one would be promoted to journeyman first they were both eager with expectation as Ranis continued. "Ajira, you have frequently spoken at length about the dangers of your chosen field of alchemy, the hazards of gathering ingredients from the wilderness, the risks of sampling unknown brews to get a sense of their effects without exposing yourself should those effects be undesirable. I agree, alchemy can be a dangerous study, and I have given you assignments that have built your skills in the relative safety of your lab."

She turned to Galbedir and continued, "you have not complained at your assignment, studying the properties and potentials of the soul gems which the guild has accumulated, but you did complain greatly that someone had slipped a fake in among them in your desk. When you were making your complaint I could not help but wonder at whoever had played this trick. You learned much of soul gems Galbedir, but when someone can slip a fake into your desk while a grand soul gem charged with the energies of a winged twilight lies there for the taking one has to wonder if you have a true appreciation for what it takes to charge them. Had that gem been stolen do you think you are capable of replacing it? You and Ajira together would make a tidy snack for a winged twilight."

Her eyes fell on me and I squirmed in my seat. It was obvious she knew that I had gotten myself enmeshed in the intrigue of this bet, and I braced myself for what I hoped would only be a harsh rebuke. A resigned voice in my head murmured "ah well, there's always the Thieve's Guild." I was now sure I was misreading the deepset red eyes which seemed to be balancing on the edge of outright laughter.

"And you Arvil Bren, we now come to you. You have been the one undertaking the dangerous missions about which Ajira complains, and I know all about the equipment you've purchased so I assume you have a laboratory set up in some dismal backwater somewhere so you can do your own experiments. The minor enchantment you had Galbedir put in your belt she demands recognition for doing in one breath, and condemns as petty in the next, and to some extent she is right. A minor restoration belt does not make an enchanter, and petty soul gems charged with cliff racers cannot even shed a glimmer on what can be done with the power of a winged twilight, so I thank you for having the good sense to leave those gems alone while you were running Ajira's little errands." Without looking away from Ranis I could feel Galbedir's baleful gaze burning at me, but Ranis turned again on the wood elf enchantress. "Galbedir, you would be well served to get out and charge some soul gems for yourself, petty or grand. There is much to be learned about the practical aspects of trying to set a soul trap upon a violent creature in the midst of combat. This Breton with his pocket full of petty soul gems has earned your respect, give it freely or fake it well, but I expect to see it." She turned back to me, now smiling openly. "Arvil Bren, you have won their bet, I promote you to the rank of journeyman in the guild of mages, congratulations." I was stunned.

_**Day Twenty-two: Sweet new home**_

Some loose ends are tied up, and I am settling down for my first night's sleep in my new humble abode; my extremely humble abode. Yesterday when Ranis said that I probably had a lab set up in some backwater I think she underestimated just how far into the backwater I was headed. When I told people in Balmora I was living in Seyda Neen the response was usually "that damp little squat? Why would you live there?" I can only imagine their response to 'on an island off Gnaar Mok'. An appropriate setting for a shipwrecked mariner perhaps, so just as well that I kept my change of locale to myself.

I left Balmora this morning just as heavily laden as I arrived, but with a much different load. Among the smiths of Balmora I am very popular, having provided them with the black armor that has them all still fascinated. I made the rounds, and ended up at the Fighter's Guild hall where a Redguard known only as Wyan manages the armory. When I presented my half dozen blunted spears he laughed and boomed in a voice accustomed to being heard over the ringing hammers of a smithy, "Arvil, you don't get to town often enough, and if your visits get any rarer you'll need a slave to carry your spears!" Today I carry only two spears, having traded the rest for an assortment of smiths equipment after spending the day learning to use it under Wyan's watchful eye.

While Wyan described what he gave me as 'portable kits' I find that without his great strength they are more like 'remote site kits', and have set up my own little armory on the deck outside my shack. I lugged it all from the guild hall to the strider port this morning, then down to my old shack in Seyda Neen. That was as much portaging as I plan to do, and I left it piled on the floor for the day. The last task I had set myself before the big transport to Gnaar Mok certainly didn't call for excess weight!

My new status as a journeyman mage will definitely take some getting used to. After hearing about my various difficulties Marayn presented me with a solution to one this morning. He is becoming a good friend, and awakened me early saying "Get up, I want you to have time to learn this spell before you have to catch the strider." He taught me a powerful levitation spell, which enabled me to float up to the ridgeline of the mountains I had described as impassable. He said that while he agreed it was far better to be embarrassed than dead, having a journeyman of his guild wandering around talking about mountains as being impassable was more embarrassment than he was willing to suffer.

I took my supply of soul gems to Galbedir, selling her all but one and hoping to get my new spell enchanted into my boots. It is a bit complicated, and if it wears off while I am far from the ground the certainty of having it enchanted into an item has a certain appeal. She was frostily respectful, throwing in at least a dozen 'yes journeyman, no journeyman, as you would have it journeyman' and the like. Then she quoted me what seemed an astronomical price for the enchantment. I thought I would get some help from Ranis, who was passing by at that moment, but she just raised an eyebrow and said "That seems a fair price. You are a journeyman in the guild, if the price is too high for you just enchant it yourself. There's more to being a mage than running about cracking crabs with a spear."

Alchemy lab, enchanting lab, armory, roll upon roll of maps; do these people realize I'm just one guy living in a little shack? Ah, but among those maps there is a thorough survey of the mountainous highland flanking the mouth of the Odai. They are not impassable for a journeyman mage!

_**Day Twenty-three: The gang war takes a turn**_

I felt much safer sleeping in my new home. This shack is built on pilings over the water, and the planking creaks and groans. The rhythmic sound is low and soothing, and as an added bonus the boards can be counted on to shriek their protests when trod upon. I am getting familiar with the few places where tight jointing allows quiet passage, but a prowler in the night would not know. I continued my practice of leaning a plate on a crossmember of the door as an added precaution, and of course slept with my spear close at hand.

The only disturbance to my rest was a sound of voices, which were carrying over the water from some distance, but not far. The smugglers of nearby Shurinbaal on a foray. I strained to catch their words, and the more I heard the less taken I was with my new neighbors. They speak very freely of the coming demise of Wadarkhu and the rest of the guild and of running Gnaar Mok. The only humor I heard from them revolved around the cruel treatment of slaves. I slipped out to the deck and observed their landing. They loaded numerous crates onto the beach, then hid their small boat below the water by weighting it down with rocks. With assistance from others who came out of the underbrush the pile of crates rapidly dwindled, and soon they were gone. I returned to my cot and willed myself into a deep restful slumber, from which I arose knowing I faced a dangerous day. Today I entered Shurinbaal to meet the neighbors.

Unlike my first foray into a smuggler's lair, this time I had no consideration of joining them, and I activated the devil spear before I passed the threshold. As expected they had a warrior posted, and not surprisingly she was tough and attacked without wasting a breath on a challenge. I noted in passing that this would be my first experience of bonemold armor in actual combat, and ducked under the first swing of her mighty Nordic battle axe. The warrior had the dark skin of a Redguard, but I was concerned that she may have gathered some frosty magic from the Nords along with the axe. I quickly gulped a frost shield potion just in case; the swirling cold energies of the barrier served well against the axe anyway. Ajira had supplied me with an array of shielding potions and I breathed her a word of thanks as the Redguard and I continued our intricate dance.

I used a series of short thrusts with my spear to keep her off balance as much as possible. She countered with swipes of her axe, knocking my point aside and trying to snap the shaft of my spear. A lesser weapon would not have served, but the daedric energies of the devil spear were proof against the tactic, and my opponent was soon bloodied at numerous points. Desperately she raised the mighty axe high overhead and brought it crashing down, aiming for my head. Without the protective field I may have been split in two by the blow. Much of the force was dissipated in the frost shield, giving me a split second of extra reaction time so I could take the blade flatter and on my armored shoulder rather than my exposed scalp. Even so I was driven to my knees by the blow. I took a wild roundhouse swing with my spear.

The wicked edges of the devil spear had earned the full respect of the skilled Redguard, and she leapt back to avoid having her legs cut from under her. I had time to lurch to my feet, and her next mighty downward chop I met with the crossed shaft of my spear. Once again, a lesser weapon may have snapped in my hands even though I caught her axe across the haft below the gleaming blade. The Redguards are a race of warriors, generally regarded as the most skilled in the Empire, and I knew that this woman wielding the axe was probably as well trained with the spear as I was myself. It would be expected for a good spearman to use the force of the axe blow, letting the left arm give way, bringing the blade of the spear down into the area under the arm of the axe wielder while guiding the axe away to the side. My recent experiences had made me a good spearman, in fact a better spearman. I surprised the Redguard. Giving way with the right arm rather than the left took her axe in an unexpected direction, and I brought the butt of the devil spear crashing into her forehead. Hardened beyond steel by the energies of the Daedric spirit within the butt of the spear delivered a devastating impact, leaving the Redguard fully exposed as I spun the spear into a killing thrust under the bonemold breastplate. As could be expected from a Redguard warrior the look in her eyes as they glazed over in death held only respect.

The battle so long in description actually lasted only seconds, and I had time to use my healing belt before anyone arrived from deeper in the cave. The ache in my shoulder took repeated uses of the belt before it was completely eased. I reasoned that the smugglers would have their most accomplished warrior posted at the door, and I hoped my reasoning would prove correct. In a fighting crouch with my spear leading the way I scuttled down the curving passage to meet whoever was drawn by the clashing of arms.

As could be expected of the bigoted Cammona Tong syndicate, most of the smugglers would be Dunmer. To my surprise though it seemed this group of smugglers would consist mostly of women. First to follow her Redguard sister into death was a young girl. Despite the dagger in her hand and snarling hatred on her face she was attractive, and I regretted the choices she had made so early in life that had brought her to this. Fortunately she did not have skills to match her youthful exuberance and in her blind rush up the passage she was easily skewered through. I jerked my spear free as an arrow thumped into my armored chest. The light chain fabric of my armor blunted the broadhead, and the padding within cushioned the blow, but still the heavy iron arrow had a painful impact. Another Dunmer woman rushed at me armed with a shortsword and clad in netch leather armor. She was far more cautious than the first, using the quickness of her blade to deflect my spear as she tried to work inside its deadly point.

Buffeting the swordswoman with blows from the spearshaft and backing to avoid her point I shortened my grip on the spear. I could match her range, but the long shaft behind it made my blade unwieldy by comparison. I was also limited in my defenses by not being able to circle. The archer perched on a rocky outcrop deeper in the cave waited patiently for such a maneuver to expose my back. These dire circumstances were sure to cost me blood, and I gulped a healing potion. Not only did the restorative magic ease my bruised chest, but it continued to work for a brief period, stopping the flow from the first telling cuts from the Dunmer's wicked blade. Her shortsword was crafted from the serrated edge of some sort of giant insect shell and even a glancing blow from the flat of the blade tore bare flesh, but almost inevitably the matching of my ultra sharp spear against her leather won out over the shell sword against my black chain mesh. As she fell I charged the archer and quickly spitted her as well.

With my wounds again healed by the restorative energies in my belt I continued into the torchlit passage, creeping cautiously as I approached a branching point. My caution was well founded. Another Redguard launched himself from the passage on my right in a swirl of kicks and blows from rock hard fists. My head rang with the impact, and were it not for the quality of my armor I would no doubt have suffered severely from a rain of blows to the ribs and kidneys. I clung to my spear and quaffed one of my restoratives to clear my head, then laid the monk low with a fierce thrust through the heart. Unknown to the Theive's Guild the tide of the gang war was turning their way. I had slain five members of the Cammona Tong in a matter of minutes. I stood at the junction and listened carefully. To proceed down either tunnel was to risk being cut off by pursuit from the other.

After some time had passed with no further clamor I slid down the passage to the right. A gentle lapping sound rose to greet me, and I reached a point where I could see the shimmer of torchlight on water. High pilings supported a platform above the reach of the tides. I could hear voices from above in animated discussion, one with a marked Imperial accent. I reasoned that these two would not emerge to impede any exit that might become necessary, and slipped back to explore the other passage.

Again after some distance I met the sound of voices, a man and a woman. I crept up to a ragged wooden gate and peered through. The Dunmer beyond were engrossed in unloading a crate, which apparently contained armor of fine Imperial steel! The woman already wore the breastplate, and was brandishing an Imperial broadsword; commenting on its exceptional balance. I reached through the gate with an iron probe to dislodge a delicately set bolt trap, while the man handed her a pair of gauntlets. I wanted to surprise them, and I wanted to do it quickly before they got any better armored than they already were. I activated my spear once again and crashed through the gate with a roar; "They defile our armor! Legionnaire's to the charge!" The thought of facing actual Imperial soldiers gave my quarry horrified pause, and they had no way to know the gleaming Daedric spear bearing down on them would not be followed by a mass of troopers. In their initial confusion I landed a telling blow across the lightly armored man's throat, evening the odds. More than evening the odds it turned out. Though the woman was well armored, and a fair hand with a sword, the weight of the armor was unfamiliar and she had had no practice with this particular blade. The Cammona Tong was quickly down two more thugs.

I left what was obviously the band's major storage area, and made a quiet return to the flooded cave. The conversation continued on the platform above, and I wondered how to approach the last of the smugglers. As I listened to the conversation above it became very clear that only one of the voices belonged to a smuggler, the cultured Cyrodiil tones belonged to some sort of Imperial officer!

I slipped back to the intersected passages and retrieved the body of the Redguard monk. Even with no armor the corpse was a burden, but once I got it up onto my shoulders I could shamble along. Moving as quietly as possible under the load I returned to the water's edge and deposited the Redguard unceremoniously on a ledge, poised to fall into the water. With a gentle nudge from my outstretched spear the body rolled, and the sound of the splash pursued me up the passageway as I ran. At the first usable nitch in the wall I dove for cover and peered back into the chamber. A Dunmer in robes was climbing down from the platform, steel gauntlets gleaming on the rungs of the ladder. The movement of the robes indicated some sort of plate armor beneath them as well. The Dunmer paused and carefully scanned the chamber. I considered taking a shot with my longbow, but without knowing the nature of the armor a hit to the body could easily be wasted, and a head shot would call for greater skill than I could count on having. The Dunmer resumed the climb, then cast a spell and stepped onto the surface of the water.

I considered my options. Charging a battlemage of unknown skills seemed foolhardy at best, but the trail of corpses I had left through the cave really had to be completed if I was ever to be safe in Gnaar Mok. This Dunmer would not fail to associate the new spear wielding hunter with the skewered corpses of his minions. When he reached the body floating near the caves entrance I held my breath, then sprang into action as he briefly looked down. As I charged down the hall I cast a protective spell that would distort my image in a way that would make me more difficult to strike, then activated the devil spear as I plunged into the water. While it would certainly hinder my movements I counted on some protection from the water, and the reach of the spear allowed me full access to my surface borne target.

The protection I got from the water was not what I expected, but it did save my life. As I lunged with my spear the smuggler chief called upon the energies of the elements, and even though my spear struck home and bit deep he was able to complete the spell. His hand struck the shaft of the spear and it was immediately rimed with frost. My body also ached with a piercing cold, and I could feel my life rapidly ebbing away. I longed to sleep, my body shutting down with the icy chill. My fortune was preserved by the water around me. Though it was not particularly warm, the mass of it did slow the temperature change that would have been my death. I had just enough time to down a restorative potion. I was chilled and shaking, but would live. My enemy had been stricken a severe blow, and it is questionable if he would have survived it without magical restoration. I gave him no chance to try. Even shaking with the cold as I was I managed to ram the devil spear through the armor. The water walking spell expired with his life and the Dunmer's body collapsed into the roiling bloodstained waters.

I looked up into the hate filled eyes of a Cyrodiil. He brandished his short sword, holding the top or the ladder. It would be suicide to climb into the waiting blade. "Come down and fight", I taunted.

"Come up yourself, Breton scum," he replied.

"I can wait. You can starve up there."

A chuckle from the Cyrodiil, "My deceased compatriots left me in abundance. You, on the other hand, are standing in waist deep water with nothing. No my stupid captor, if there is starving to be done it will not be by me."

I drew my longbow, and he scuttled back from the edge. I kept talking, so he would know I had not come around to the base of the ladder, pausing only long enough to cast my levitation spell. I spoke more quietly as I rose; "Stick that misshapen head out where I can see it Imperial!"

"No, you will have to climb up if you want to shoot at me Breton. Come on! Don't be afraid to climb a little ladder." The last word stuck in his throat as I lofted over the far end of the platform.

The Cyrodiil was clearly a low ranking officer of the coastal guard, tasked with combating the smuggling that the mists and uncountable inlets of the Bitter Coast made inevitable. An officer on the payroll of the Cammona Tong. While I had no love for the Imperial Guard after my imprisonment, it was my new sense of honor as a member of the Blades that made me feel so satisfied as I drove my spear through the Imperial studded leather breastplate into the corrupt heart.

It took the rest of the day and late into the evening to gather all the goods into the storage area and assess the spoils of my victory. I don't intend to make any great effort to move all the material. I will bring the true valuables to the shack, but for the rest I will just make sure to always have a full load of trade goods when I head into the cities. I was taken aback when I was opening the cases. The Cammona Tong is obviously equipping themselves for a bloody showdown, and has a strong connection within the Imperial Legion. The amount of Imperial armor and weapons I found would equip a fair unit of guardsmen...or Tong thugs masquerading as guardsmen. I hope that I have severely crimped their operation with today's efforts. In the darkest hours of night I dragged all the corpses out of the cave and loaded them into their boat. For the first time I was happy about the ravenous slaughterfish. They are, I'm sure, very happy with me.

_**Day Twenty-four: The druegh**_

After my long labors in the night I slept late today. I was determined to resume my mapping, and set my sights on a string of tiny islands that are visible from my dock. Standing well out to sea from Vvardenfell itself these islands mark the edge where the coastal shelf drops away into the Inner Sea. I cast my water walking spell and set off, towing a string of weighted corpses and trailing a huge school of bloated slaughterfish who swam sluggishly along. I hoped that I could leave the bodies far from shore, and leave the slaughterfish there as closer inspection what I had called an island chain turned out to be little more than rocks, and there are many that lie slightly below the surface. While the Bitter Coast has much to offer for smugglers, it's waters are incredibly treacherous. As I stood on the rounded top of a boulder, gazing down a long submerged slope into the depths of the inner sea, I wondered how many mariners had met their fate on moonless nights on this rock, or its immediate indistinguishable neighbors.

In the distance to the south I could make out the railing of a vessel, standing just above the lowered tide. I opted to swim a while to try to clear the memory of the gore from my skin. The slaughterfish continued to feed on the landward side of my rock, so I stepped off on the seaward side and stroked lazily for the distant shipwreck. I had an eerie feeling of being watched, but treading water to scan the surface around me revealed nothing. I climbed out on another rock and basked in the sun, and again turned a full circle. Nothing but sea, rocks, and sky; and in the distance the trees of my own island broke the horizon.

I stepped into the water to continue my swim. The plunge left me shrouded in swirling froth, and I never saw the hammering blow that drove the air from my lungs. Fortunately my time here has steeled my nerves, and even while gagging on seawater I was able to complete the required gestures of a water breathing spell. My chances would have been slim indeed without that. A creature had my ankle in a crushing grip, and was obviously intent on holding me beneath the surface. As the water cleared I could see that it had the upper body of a powerfully muscled man. One normal looking hand fluttered in the water, but the opposite arm ended in a huge, powerful claw, which clamped my foot in a viselike grip. Beneath these arms sprouted a second pair, heavily muscled, and ending in smaller claws. The beast had no legs, below the waist long thick tentacles swayed rhythmically, drawing the monster and myself down into the depths. I had met the fabled dreugh face to face. While the druegh is indeed a dangerous adversary and has dragged many a sailor to his demise, they are really no match for a water breathing mage. When the creature's favored style of attack failed and I did not rapidly drown it did not adjust, and I was able to impale it. I crawled back out on the rocks and used my invaluable belt once again, this time to heal the bruised flesh and cracked bones of my ankle. There are armorers who craft with dreugh hide, but the beast's face was a bit too manlike for me to set about skinning it. I scraped off a mass of the waxy coating, which has magical properties, and left the remains to whatever fate the sea held for them. I hope the creature's kin had the opportunity to do whatever their kind do for their dead.

_**Day Twenty-five: All the comforts**_

It's good to have a home. Even if it is a ragged shack on a rickety pier in the absolute middle of nowhere. Given the complications of my life I think that's actually all to the advantage. It may not be much, but my shack is coming to contain everything I need. And let's face it, the price was right.

As I continue to explore the local area, which is of course mostly water, it becomes easier to think the previous occupant met a bad end. From the number of empty bottles and a note he left it is pretty obvious he was a heavy drinker, and had some long term problems that would lead him to take to the water. And the water around here is too dangerous to be roaming drunkenly around. It is fortunate the dreugh can't get out of the water. I saw a number of them today as I explored the bay between Gnaar Mok and the barrier isles. Between diving for pearls and collecting dreugh wax a man could get fairly wealthy here.

After a long swim I crawled ashore on the main island and visited what I am now calling my storage area. I'm sure the Cammona Tong would not be pleased at the reference, but it was dusk and the clouds had closed in so I am sure I was unseen entering Shurinbaal. I loaded out most of the armor and transported myself home. I planned on practicing on some of the worn armors, but used up my kits repairing the points on my devil spear and halberd. Being my own smith in the remote wilderness is more challenging than I expected.

On a brighter note my enchanting lab came together quite nicely. I bagged a few cliff racers and charged up some petty gems, and this evening set to work. I was very pleased when my first effort produced a working pair of levitation boots! They are not as powerful as my spell so I will move much less quickly, and the duration is not as long, but like any enchanted item they trigger with a one word incantation, so I can count on them keeping me from a nasty fall when my spell wears off, and for quick elevation changes onto rooftops or balconies.

While it is good to have a home, I cannot get too comfortable. By all accounts the Dark Brotherhood does not give up, and eventually I will be found. I am also noticing that somehow being here in Morrowind has shifted my view of the Empire. The Imperial rule that I felt as oppressive in High Rock and rebelled against reigns here. But seeing it from the other side I see the good in it, and the good it served in my homeland as well. Tomorrow I will travel to Balmora and meet with Caius. It's time to find out what the Empire requires of me.

_**Day Twenty-six: Fjol's bridge**_

Having my own home is wonderful, even with the isolation; but tonight I enjoy the company here at the guild hall and wonder. Someday will I be able to sleep without fear of assassination? Live openly, and among friends, perhaps family? What fate has set my feet to what appears to be a lonely path?

I took ship this morning, sailing with the dawn to Hla Oad wearing a mixed set of bonemold and steel, the first step in converting my pile of trade goods to more portable assets. My growing loyalty to the Empire could not allow me to return to Balmora without at least a token search for Larrius Varro's bandit. On the docks of Hla Oad my scalp crawled. Every Dunmer, and most others, gave no sign of hospitality. The snarled "outlander" from just behind me after they had passed, the averted gaze, or worse, the glare burning with hatred; all spoke of the influence of the Cammona Tong. I am perhaps being infected with their hatred, but thoughts of burning Hla Oad to the ground crossed my mind. I left quickly.

Not far from Hla Oad lies a bridge, and as I approached a large Nord in the fur armor of Skyrim stepped from the brush. He held a mighty Nordic axe loosely in his hand; not threateningly, but ready for use. "I am Fjol, Breton, and this is my bridge," he said. Very matter of fact, not hostile, but again the air of readiness.

"Did you build this bridge? Has the Emperor himself given you title to this bridge? Or House Hluulu, which I suppose would be the authority here.," I replied, shifting to the other side of the road and freeing my hands. No gestures of spellcasting, but enough to let him know that I would be willing to defend myself.

The Nord gave a roaring laugh. "The Tong would be the authority here, if I was beholden to any. If you were Cammona Tong Breton I might even allow you to pass, though the road beyond be dangerous...outlaws you know. You'll certainly be safer with a lighter purse. A hundred gold septims and you may use my bridge."

At the mention of the Cammona Tong my blood boiled. "If you call the Tong master, you will make another notch on the shaft of my spear. My count is eight, and just giving them that information would be worth more than a hundred septims. You would be well served to flee with that information while you can."

The Nord's blue eyes narrowed. "If the information be so valuable, what price shall I have for your head!" His voice rose to a roar at the last, and the axe rose in a glittering arc.

With a quick word and a gesture the devil spear leaped to my hands, and carrying forward with its momentum I dealt the Nord a grievous blow. The raging blood of the people of Skyrim gushed red, but he was not slowed. The mighty Nordic axe crashed down, rending steel and flesh and cracking bone. I fell to my knees, the haft of my spear digging into the soft soil. With the spreading bar of the spear pressed to his flesh Fjol could come no closer, and he paused to yank the wicked point from his chest in another gout of blood. Either of us could die from the injuries we had already been dealt, but the battle lust was upon Fjol, and he would speed my death with another blow from his axe if he could. My own more calculating Breton heritage carried the day, for I saw no shame in gulping a healing restorative during the brief pause in his advance. I rolled painfully to avoid his next chopping blow.

"You should have chosen a weaker opponent!" Fjol roared. He swiped sideways, dealing me a thunderous blow with the flat of the axe, but the restorative had already knitted my ribs, and was continuing to work. There was nothing it could do about the torn edges of steel from my breastplate that dug into my raw flesh though. I continued my roll, eventually getting one knee and a foot underneath me. From this half kneeling position I could wield my spear to some effect, at least enough to hold Fjol briefly at bay. With another sideways swipe the huge Nord knocked my spear aside and charged. With no spear to stop him I had no choice, and rose from my knee in my own low driving tackle to meet him head on. Though he was far larger my heavy armor made me a fair match, and we collided with the force of a catapult shot on a castle tower. I thrust my fingers, with the thin steel plates of my gauntlet, into the gory mess of fur armor and Nord flesh that my spear had made of his side.

Fjol howled with furious agony as he tossed me aside. I staggered, but did not fall, and lunged to recover my spear. The great Nord stood swaying, blood gushing with every labored breath. Bloody foam flecked his lips as he growled "I shall not fall Breton, you must strike me down." He leaned heavily on the haft of his axe, eyes blazing a cold fury. I could have waited. I know the mighty barbarian would have eventually collapsed to die on his knees. He deserved better, and I drove my spear through his throat.

I sold my armor to Wyan, and gathered a great bag of supplies for my armory. He did not comment as he helped me off with my breastplate, opening my wounds as the jagged steel pulled free, but he did nod his respect. That is all the acknowledgement a Redguard would ever give to a battle wound. "I could give you more for this if you repair it first," he said. "It would honor me if you used my forge."

I dined at the South Wall. I wanted to get to know the regulars there, and be known by them. I still do not want to join their guild, but given my opposition to the Cammona Tong their friendship is a comfort. Of course I did not tell them what I had done, or where I was living, but they clearly accepted a relationship rooted in a timeless wisdom; 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'. A Bosmer scout, Arathor, was particularly taken with my bonemold boots, which glow softly from the mild enchantment. He gave me more insight into the advantages of the medium weight armors, and we drank far into the night.

I rose in the silence of the depth of night to write, surrounded by the sleeping mages of Balmora. Ajira, somewhat a mistress of the local brews, laughed as she put me in my bunk. "I tried to tell friend Arvil Bren. The sujamma has a kick like a guar, puts hair on your face." She padded out with a parting swish of her orange and black striped tail before I could get my thickened tongue to answer. It's good to have a friend to thank in the morning.

_**Day Twenty-seven: Jobs to do**_

This shack is an excellent base from which to operate, at least until the Dark Brotherhood finds it, but it is lonely. This evening I brewed potions, using my new mortar and pestle. It is of much higher quality, lighter and providing a much smoother grind. My alchemy lab is much the better for it. I got it from Ajira, in trade for the skooma I took from the Cammona Tong. They apparently control the vast majority of the skooma trade, and Ajira was very pleased to get a good supply. I have also improved my enchanting lab. With some assistance I modified my soultrap spell so I can cast it on a distant target. Initially I though this would just improve my abilities with cliff racers, since I could cast the spell and bring them down with arrows. This afternoon I saw a much bigger improvement. Using a higher quality soul gem I was able to trap the energies of a bull netch which has been routinely hanging over my island. This gem is far more powerful than the racers I've been using. In fact I opted not to waste it on my latest project, a demon longbow, which I did successfully complete. I also set up all my new equipment in my forge this afternoon, working from the time I teleported home until dusk. As I said, an excellent base, but compared to having breakfast in the guild hall this morning it is achingly lonely.

At breakfast the talk of my drunken exploits eventually gave way to comments on my boots. Ranis was very explicit in her inquiries, but was soon satisfied that I had indeed enchanted them myself. She followed with some further questioning about my alchemy skills and repertoire of spells, then surprised me by promoting me to Evoker. While my friends are a bit jealous of my rapid promotion, they are also well aware that the comforts of life in the hall appeal greatly to me. It was difficult to take my leave. Ranis made it easier though. I think my promotion was in part just to have me qualified to take on a mission she needs accomplished. I am to recruit a renegade Telvanni, and also collect back dues from a lapsed member of the guild. When I transported myself out this afternoon I gave the impression that I was on my way, although I actually am much further from my destination now. I will pursue my duty to the guild dutifully, but it is not my only pressing concern.

After breakfast I made a trip out to Fort Moonmoth. Varro was pleased that Fjol had been brought to justice. He was disappointed that the outlaw had not been taken alive, but not very disappointed. In fact Varro is a bit on the bloodthirsty side I think. He told me what he called a 'story'. It was about a good officer enforcing the laws, a corrupt magistrate releasing the villains, and the bad people who bribe the magistrate. It did not take a genius to recognize the key figures in the tale. Varro says that the good officer's hands are tied, because the magistrate has powerful connections, but that if something happened to the 'bad people' it would make everything turn out in the end. The direction this was going was ominous, but then there was the clincher. If the 'story' were taken to represent Balmora, which it clearly does, then the 'bad people' in question are none other than the core of the local Cammona Tong syndicate! Varro certainly did not want anything so direct as a statement that I would take care of it, but it is clear that he would appreciate it if I did, and that there would be a tangible reward for me. I returned to town and spoke with my friends at the South Wall. They identified the key players who Varro could only describe. I stopped at the Council Club for lunch and identified them all. The hostile atmosphere made it very easy to resolve to take on this task, though how to conduct the 'bloodbath' that will give Varro the happy ending for his tale remains to be seen.

As if I did not have enough on my suddenly full plate, when I turned over my latest maps to Nine Toes he sent me to see Caius. I was going to check in with the spy master anyway, but the tone of the summons left no doubt that I was going to be even busier. Nine Toes thanking me for my efforts and suggesting that he would be handling the rest of the project without me made that obvious.

Caius wasted no time. "Nine Toes tells me you do good work. Now it's time to expand your experience...And your usefulness." I nodded acceptance and he continued. "You may have heard rumors about 'the Nerevarine'. The Dunmer are waiting for this Nerevarine, who they say will be the re-incarnation of their long dead general, Lord Indoril Nerevar. They expect him to unite all the tribes of the Dunmer and restore the Dark Elven nation to its former glory. The prophecies are handed down among the Ashlanders as oral traditions and poetic verses. We need to know a lot more about these prophecies, and you are going to be instrumental in finding out."

I was a bit daunted by the task. Ashlanders? I knew nothing about the ashlands or their people. Caius gave me a place to start. He sent me to Hasphat Antabolis, drillmaster at the Balmora fighters guild hall. Hasphat has lived in Morrowind his entire life, and is very well connected with the land and people of the Dunmer. He is also very interested in the disappearance of the ancient dwarven people, a collector of their artifacts, and a wily trader who gives up no information for free. To even begin to talk about the Nerevarine prophecies, he demanded a small 'favor'. In his research he has come across references to a 'Dwemer Puzzle Box', and has isolated it to a particular site. He gave me directions to this ruin, and instructed me how to gain access. He will trade his information for this artifact, and nothing else. What I will do if I explore the ruins and don't find the box is not clear. Hopefully I won't have to figure that out.

_**Day Twenty-eight: On the road**_

I laid awake in my cot for much of the night, turning plans over in my head. Finally, not much rested, I rose before dawn and went outside. I settled down on my dock to a breakfast of fresh crabmeat. My pier faces west, and the sun rising behind me chased the shadows of darkness out into the Inner Sea. With them went my uncertainty. I had a plan, and I quickly donned almost a full set of bonemold armor and loaded my pack. I am carrying a tightly bundled set of the black chainmail of a Dark Brotherhood assassin, and topped off my pack with as much spare armor as I could carry. Again I was plagued with uncertainty. I had practiced an intervention spell which would take me to the nearest temple, in fact I have scrolls with this excellent transportation spell traced upon them, but where would the nearest temple be? I hoped Balmora. If it turned out to be Ald'ruhn it would delay me slightly. If anywhere else I would probably need a new plan. I was pleased to find myself in the familiar courtyard of the Balmora temple as the spell's effects cleared.

I quickly sold my spare armor, keeping the dark mail hidden and telling Wyan I needed the travel money. I made a point of telling him how excited I was to be on a serious errand for my guild steward, heading to the far reaches of Molag Mar. I was also very conspicuous in my departure as I swept through the guild hall. Ranis was surprised, since she thought I had set out yesterday, but understood that I had needed to rush home to supply myself for the journey. I made a point with her that the bonemold armor would not make for overly fast travel, but would get me safely there and back. By the time I left the guild hall everyone knew I was embarking on a substantial journey. After the high visibility of my first two stops my final one felt incongruous. I slipped into a deep alcove in the pedestal of the strider port, directly across from the Council Club, and left a magic mark.

I left Balmora in a new direction, headed into the interior of Vvardenfell. Just past Moonmoth Fort is a mighty canyon, the Foyada Mamaca. Foyada is a Dunmer word meaning 'river of fire', a reference to the hot, ash laden winds that roar down from the mighty volcano, Red Mountain. My road passed north of the fort to cross over an ancient Dwemer bridge. As I stepped onto the bridge I saw a man standing near the far end, sunlight glinting from his iron plate armor. Remembering Fjol I approached cautiously, half expecting another bridge claiming bandit demanding a toll. Whether he would demand a toll or just try to rob me I'll never know.

As soon as he caught sight of me the white haired man began the gestures of a spell of summoning, and I sprinted for a cart parked near the bridge rail. He completed the spell just in time for me to see a skeletal warrior summoned from the plane of the dead appear before him, then I vaulted over the rail. I fell out of sight and activated my boots to float down into the canyon, curving under the bridge as I went. Once safely on firm ground, I cast a chameleon spell and crept out from beneath the bridge, dodging furtively down the canyon for a short distance. When I was far enough to consider it safe to proceed I turned and climbed the canyon wall, using my boots to master occasional steep passages. Thus I crossed the Foyada Mamaca, but I was not finished with the white crowned bandit.

From my vantage on a high rock spur I could see him pacing the bridge, pausing occasionally to peer over the rail at the canyon floor far below. He wore only the breastplate of iron; his arms were bare, and bronzed by the sun. At one of his pauses I buried an arrow deep in the meat of his left shoulder. As he dove for cover I was nearly knocked from my perch into the canyon far below. Struggling to maintain balance I turned to face a horrid grotesquery. A cliff racer had glided silently from above and struck me a solid blow with its sharp beak, and was now flapping mightily to regain the air. The beast was hampered by thick meaty growths that dotted its wings, and a thickening of muscles that certainly added to the power of its strike, but hampered its flight. It slammed the air awkwardly with deformed wings. Unslinging my spear I struck the creature full in the breast, what should have been at least a debilitating blow. Blood spilled, but the heavy muscle began rapidly growing around the wound, adding another blob to the sickening mass. It took a rapid series of deep stabs, any one of which should have been fatal, to send the blighted creature to its rest. That is what the monster was; blighted. A victim of the dreaded disease that is supposed to be contained behind the ghostfence that rings Red Mountain. I shuddered at the sight of it.

Of course I knew that I did not have time to ponder how the blight had reached to this distant part of Vvardenfell. The bandit had moved like a man injured, but far from dead, and I had no idea where he had gotten to in my distraction. I crouched and surveyed the bridge. He was huddled behind some crates, peering cautiously at my high perch. We were at a standoff. I skipped an arrow off the top of the crates for good measure. After my harrowing experience with the blighted racer I was willing to concede the bridge to it's toll keeper. I slid carefully down the slope on my heels, with my bow at the ready. I could reach the road well past the bridge and be on my way.

I suppose one arrow to the shoulder couldn't be expected to stop a self respecting bandit. Scurrying from shelter to shelter he moved inexorably towards the point where I would intersect the road. My bow was ready, but in my pell-mell slide down the slope there was no way to get off an accurate shot. With the bow in my hands I couldn't activate my boots. A final small avalanche of loose stones and I landed in the road, only yards away from my attacker. He stopped, conjuring again. I drew quickly and fired. The skeleton appeared in front of him and the arrow struck, shattering bony ribs and scattering dust. Still gesturing, my opponent stepped from behind the skeleton, which was turning to charge. A ball of sparks flew from the conjurers hands and enveloped me. I hooked my bow over my shoulder and fled, hoping that the pursuing skeleton would shelter me from any more of the conjurer's spells.

As I ran I triggered first my healing belt, then my boots, and lofted myself over a rockpile and out of harms way. A few more charges from the belt and I was again good as new. Just in time for the conjurer to round the rockpile and open fire yet again. This time I sidestepped his bolt, and returned fire with my bow. We dodged among the boulders trading volleys until he fell from loss of blood. I made sure of him with my spear, but I believe he was already dead.

I continued on my way, following the trail around a huge peak crowned with ancient ruins. The road then descended into an ash covered wasteland, and bits of advice I had received about the Ashland welled up in memory. Don't be out after dark being a common one, and stay out of ash storms being another. As I gazed into the uniform grayness these sounded like wise counsel. The sun was lowering fast with the mountain behind me, and I cast about for some sort of shelter.

Happily I saw a cavern mouth in a ravine, not far off the trail. I entered carefully, thinking that I might not be the only creature taking advantage of such a secure nook. Red candles burning on numerous rocks not far within showed that the cave was home to men rather than creatures...or so I thought, until one such inhabitant shambled towards me. Like the blighted racer I had slain he was horribly distorted, but clearly had once been a man. I fired an arrow into the mass of blobs that had been his chest and the impact knocked him off his feet, perhaps more from a clumsy effort to dodge than anything else. Before he could rise I pumped three more arrows into the mass. I don't know if the internal organs were shifted from their places inside the tortured hulk, but apparently something vital was found by an arrowhead, and the monster accepted merciful death.

To my left I saw a tunnel blocked by an exposed vein of molten lava. I levitated across with my boots. The shambling gait of the corprus stalker would never have managed the narrow ledges and leaps from stone to stone that I magically avoided. The lava thus offers protection as well as warmth and I am bedded down on the cavern's stone floor.

_**Day Twenty-nine: Collection agent**_

I write tonight as the denizens of Sulipund settle down around me. I am a guest of Llarar Bereloth. Bereloth is a sorcerer and a member of the Dunmer great house called Telvanni. I was sent here to convince him to join the guild...or kill him. Fortunately I was able to convince him of the benefits. He has a number of retainers here in this isolated tower who would add to the already dangerous task of attacking him. Overall it has been a very successful day.

This morning I left the cavern in which I had sheltered without any further exploration. The red candles still burned, and I wondered at who would be there to maintain them. Did the corprus stalker just wander in there like I did? Or was the diseased man a part of whatever rules that darkened pit? I felt no desire to be face to face with any mystery that might have accounted for the ominous feel of the place.

Today's trek through the ashlands was not unlike yesterday; cliff racers, shalk beetles, and a dubious trail that at times wandered and occasionally disappeared. In the midafternoon heat I found the lake which Ranis had offered as a landmark. The ancient Dunmer stronghold at Marandus loomed to the southeast, but I turned to the north. The trail here is fairly clear and I had no trouble finding my first destination, a cavern opening on the right side of the trail, secured with a stout wooden door.

Inside the cavern, known as Punabi, the crackling energies of magica can be felt in the air. Ranis had told me some sort of research was going on there, and Punabi is apparently a good place for it...it stank of power. Fortunately I did not have to venture far inside to accomplish my task there. The first person I met was Manwe, a renegade mage whom I had been sent to find. When she learned that I was there to collect her back dues for the guild she was furious, and suggested that I might be wise to pay Ranis myself rather than bother her. I was grateful for the education I received on the streets of High Rock. Manwe is, I suspect, a far more capable spellcaster than I, but I know how challenging it can be to concentrate on spells while getting jabbed at with a sharp spear. The diversity of my skills gave me the courage to continue trying to reason with her. Eventually, perhaps just to get rid of me so she could return to her research, she produced the two thousand septims in back dues which would restore her standing with the guild. With a sigh of relief I made my exit.

As Ranis had said, the tower of Sulipund was not much further along the trail, and I arrived well before dark. I was ushered to the highest room in the tower by surly retainers who clearly would have preferred that their master order my death, or at the very least my unceremonious removal from the premises. Bereloth also did not extend a warm welcome, but since he did pause in his research to see me I expressed my gratitude in a stream of praises for his work and the grandeur that he had brought to what had been a long abandoned tower.

Our conversation ranged widely, although it did frequently come back to Sulipund. The Telvanni district does not extend this far into the ashlands, and Bereloth could technically be considered a 'rogue' by the leadership of his house for settling here. It is certainly outside of the Imperial charter, which grants the governance of this area to the Dunmer Tribunal Temple. In order to avoid being held in violation of the charter the Telvanni house would simply disavow Bereloth and others like him, but in talking to Bereloth it was clear that this does not keep him from being actively involved in the activities of his house. While he is not really as isolated as his official status would indicate, he did come to see my point that membership in the guild would be a benefit. We agreed that he would visit Ranis on his upcoming trip into Balmora.

I told Bereloth that I greatly appreciated his hospitality for the night as I had other business to attend to in the area. I did not mention that I had already completed my other task. When he does visit Balmora he will unknowingly provide collaboration of my whereabouts tonight. I am not imposing upon his house for breakfast, as I have informed them that I will be leaving before dawn. Sulipund will soon settle into the early rest of the remote ashlands. I am preparing for a busy night.

_**Day Thirty: Council Club**_

I have slept most of the day, in a camp left to me by the departed Snowy Granius. Apparently his taking of tolls on the bridge over the Foyada Mamaca had been going on for quite some time. His camp provides a little shelter from ash storms and cliff racers, and much more importantly will keep me out of sight.

Once Bereloth's house had settled last night I crept out to the hallway and prepared for my task. My black armor I covered with a robe of common material. Nondescript steel gauntlets and my lightly enchanted bonemold boots offered no clue to my identity, and the effect was completed by a closed helm of netch leather that covered my features. I did not expect anyone to see my magical appearance in Balmora, but if they had they would not have known me. I quietly cast my spell of recall.

As expected my arrival in the deep nook under the strider port went unobserved, and I strode quickly to the door of the Council Club and entered. I was immediately accosted by Thanelen Velas, a smith by trade, and according to my sources one of the five local Cammona Tong ringleaders that Varro hoped would meet with an 'accident'. He peered at me with narrowed eyes and hissed "Why the closed helm? This is a peaceful establishment. Are you trying to hide that you are an outlander?" He fairly spat the final word, as if it left a bad taste in his dark elven mouth.

"Many of your brethren Dunmer have manners, dark elf scum," I replied. "Of course with good manners they have no need to shelter among your corrupt and cowardly Tong."

He grabbed an axe of gleaming Dwarven metal from a nearby table and took a wild sideways swipe. I ducked under the arc and drove my halberd through his unarmored body until the blade caught against his ribs. With another heave I drove him backwards over the table, the long shaft of the halberd keeping me beyond the range of his axe. Blood foamed from his lips as he gasped his last. I yanked the wicked point of the halberd free and spun to the stairs.

The main room of the Council Club lies one flight below ground level, and I crashed down into this salon with Velas' blood still dripping from my ready weapon. I raced through unhindered. The bartender took shelter behind his bar while three patrons stared in slack jawed surprise. They leapt to their feet too late to block my progress and I continued into the storage area. My boots skidded on the carpet as I made the sharp turn onto the ramp leading down to the sleeping rooms. At the bottom of the ramp, just emerging from her room, stood the thief Madrale Thirith. I used the steep ramp to accelerate my reckless charge as I activated the devil spear. I was committed, no one who saw that distinctive weapon in my hands would leave alive. The enchanted spear seeked out its target and the full weight of my charge drove Thirith to the ground, stricken through. I was not unscathed though. As she fell the skilled thief delivered a viscous cut with her shortsword, which gleamed with enchantment in the dim light of the hall. A jolt of magical electricity seared the flesh around the wound. With a quick glance at my pursuers I threw open a door to a sleeping chamber and dove inside.

Two of the five leaders of Balmora's Cammona Tong lay dead, and the other three crashed against the open door which obstructed the hall at the bottom of the ramp, slamming it closed at my heels. By stepping into the room I had avoided giving them the same advantage I had used on their partner, but I was still outnumbered three to one. I called on the dragon skin spell of my ancestors and tightened my grip on the devil spear as they tore open the door.

Fortunately in their haste and arrogance two of the Tong leaders had charged down the ramp unarmed. The third however wielded a longsword of fine steel which dripped with green magical venom. Even in my black armor I knew I would not survive many strikes from that blade. I jabbed with my spear, and sent the tip in glittering arcs across the doorway. The narrow access countered their numbers, and I dared not let them enter. In the close confines of the doorway they impeded each other, and first the pawnbroker and then the foppish savant fell to my spear. Unfortunately the skilled swordswoman had taken her opportunities, striking at my spear as it cut down her fellows. Green ichor flowed up the shaft and enveloped my hands and arms in stinging agony. She held a clear advantage as she stepped over her fallen companions into the room.

We glared at each other warily. She respected my spear, which was now completely inundated with the lifeblood of her companions. For my part I knew that I needed to keep well clear of her green stained blade. She raised the blade to strike, I jabbed quickly. Giving up on her swing she parried. I just as quickly feinted back, swinging my spear away from her venom lest my hands be tortured further. She could not close against the spear, but I could not fully commit to an attack; a dangerous standoff. Very dangerous for me, as each passing second brought me closer to the expiring of my defensive spell.

I braced myself, more in mind than body, and leapt forward thrusting with the spear. Her blade rang against my shaft, then slid along to rake my gauntleted hands with agony. I kept my grip through the wrenching pain, and the enchantment of the spear carried it to rest among her shattering ribs. Again red Dunmer blood quenched the Daedric spirit of the devil spear. I gulped restoratives, thankful to have survived.

I grabbed the enchanted weapons and rifled purses for whatever gold I could find, then tore up the ramp to make my escape. The Bartender stood behind the bar, gripping a huge steel warhammer in both hands. As I spun into the main room I growled a warning at him, "Peace friend, my contract does not include you." He lowered the hammer, but watched warily. "This Cammona Tong may be a big deal in Morrowind, but the Thieve's Guild is established throughout the Empire. I recommend you lose your reputation for hosting the Tong, or we will close your doors." With that bit of subterfuge I sprinted up the stairs and out into the street.

My headlong flight into the night was uneventful. I ran up the steps to the strider port until I could clear the city wall, then leapt free. Gulping sujamma, which I had grabbed from the bar, I raced towards the foyada. The sujamma enhanced my strength sufficiently for me to run under the burden of weapons that I had gathered, but muddled my thinking. Fortunately my well laid plan carried me through without calling on my mental resources and I arrived here safely. I spent the day resting my battered legs and easing the pounding in my head, aftermath of my sujamma powered flight. I will sleep here tonight and begin my search for Hasphat's puzzle box tomorrow.

_**Day Thirty-one: Triumphant return**_

Today I began the search for Hasphat's puzzle box. I cannot say it has been a great success, but it is a beginning. It also appears to be an opportunity to line my pockets. The ruins of Arkngthand are apparently rich with ancient Dwemer artifacts. Rich enough to have attracted a band of looters.

The ruins crown the mountain just east of the Foyada Mamaca, looming ominously over my campsite at the bridge. Numerous towers jut into the sky, and a huge statue of a Dwemer sorcerer gazes balefully down over the road. On the surface the ruins are buried in ash and dust from the explosive Red Mountain volcano, and overgrown with brambly trama vines. These hardy plants seem to thrive in the harsh ashlands of Vvardenfell. They have little competition.

As Hasphat had said, there is a crank on a pipe near the entrance to the underground halls. The magic and engineering of the Dwemer is astonishing. When I turned the crank a huge stone sphere set in the nearby mountainside split asunder, revealing a metal door inscribed with Dwemer runes. I entered cautiously, and gazed in awe at the entry cavern spread out below me. From the cavern floor great towers rose. Some pierced the ceiling, perhaps continuing on the mountaintop above, while others were completely contained in the great expanse. I stood gaping on a platform of Dwemer metal perched high on the northern wall. The cavern was lit by a combination of glowing tubes that appeared to contain some sort of magically lighted fluid, flames endlessly flickering about the broken ends of ancient piping, and a series of torches burning far below. I wondered at the torches, and who had placed them.

The Dwemer apparently had no concerns about levitation. The entry platform was not their only construction that came to an abrupt end. From where I stood I could clearly see two more. One far below, about halfway to the floor, could be reached using a series of rough ledges. Another was near the roof and attached to one of the great towers. I saw no way to reach it without using my enchanted boots or a spell. With my boots ready to save me from an unexpected fall I began carefully scaling down the ledges. As soon as I was clear of the entry platform the eastern side of the cavern came into view, and again I stopped to gape. A huge metal building loomed, suspended against the native stone. The two levels were open to the cavern, and on the lower level a Redguard paced, obviously in conversation with someone who remained out of sight behind a huge pillar. Broken stones and scrap had been heaped into piles on the cavern floor to provide access to both levels of the building as well as the platform towards which I continued creeping.

I arrived on the platform and slipped into the mouth of a tunnel, which promptly opened into a room. The dust of ages had been swept haphazardly. Obviously not in effort to clean up, merely to reveal the floor and any artifacts of value that may have lain there. Trafficking in Dwemer artifacts is a crime, but is sufficiently lucrative that it is not uncommon, and those who participate are seldom targets of Imperial authority. The biggest hardship faced by artifact raiders is the sheer weight of the goods. The Redguard and his unseen companion were obviously not deterred. I wondered if they were alone, or part of a larger operation. Either way, I suspected they would not be leaping at the chance to share the spoils with me. I peered out through the tunnel and across the cavern to where the conversation continued. The Redguard seemed to have made his point, and now stood listening, nodding occasionally.

The room provided a second exit, a winding stair that lead deeper into the ruins. I grabbed a lantern from a heap of supplies that had been left by the looters and headed down. In the light of the lantern the stairs revealed dismaying evidence of passing feet; far more than two pairs. Although the tracks often obscured each other I identified at least six different shoe prints. I climbed back to the top of the stairs and returned the lantern. The supplies and empty crates seemed to indicate that the looters were undertaking an extended operation. Any interruption and they could flee, taking the cube with them if they had found it. I was not ready to confront half a dozen potentially dangerous criminals today. I slipped out the way I had entered and left the looters to their work.

Abandoning the riches of Arkngthand, even temporarily, cut against my grain. I have to keep my eye on larger pictures though. Such a large band, and they are obviously planning on spending many days in the ruins; searching for the cube myself could take weeks. I do not have the time. Following through with my plans is imperative to avoid suspicion. Hiding from the Dark Brotherhood is a big enough problem; if the Cammona Tong gets an inkling that I am responsible for the massacre at the Council Club my life in Morrowind will be brief and bloody.

As evening set I entered the gates of Moonmoth Fort; roadweary, overburdened with hides and tradegoods from Granius' camp, and moving very slowly. I complained to the guards about the distance from Sulipund, shared a jug of sujamma, and entered the main building having firmly established my whereabouts, in their minds at least. The tales they told of the 'bloodbath at the Council Club' I met with appropriate horror and astonishment. I sold off hides and goods to the traders who frequent the fort's main room, and managed a brief encounter with Larrius Varro as he passed through. He was jovial at the turn of events in Balmora and shrugged off even a pretense at being interested in finding the killer. I compared my encounter with Snowy Granius to that other toll-taking bandit Fjol, and he openly gave me another reward. No one needs to know that the ring he gave me is worth far more than one old bandit's life. I never expected to share a bond of conspiracy with a Champion of the Imperial Legions.

I arrived at the guild hall in Balmora late, and tired. I will sleep well. Tomorrow at breakfast I will report to Ranis that her tasks are completed, and settle for good any consideration that I might have had anything to do with recent events in Balmora.

_**Day Thirty-two: Dwarven tower**_

It's good to be home. This shack offers so little in the way of comforts, but it is so secure. I slipped in from the south, walking across the water unseen in the dark. I left Balmora this morning by levitating over the mountains west of the city, dropping rapidly into the swamps of the bitter coast. I would be very challenging to follow. Now my mark is reestablished here, so I will again be able to teleport directly home. Dark Brotherhood, Cammona Tong, any other enemies I might make; Arvil Bren will not be easy prey.

I like my home, but waking up this morning in the guild hall was a comfort as well. Tensions among the apprentices have eased, and the chatter at the breakfast table was lively. I reported to Ranis, and true to her word she split Manwe's back dues with me evenly. While my mastery of magic is probably only average, Ranis unquestionably has a high demand for my skills with the spear. She seems quite devoted to 'join or die' as a promotional system for the guild. We spoke briefly about someone offering training in the restoration arts who does not have guild sanction. I'll probably end up taking care of that for her when I get back there.

For now I am settled in after the long walk. I have become quite comfortable with the swamps of the bitter coast, and enjoyed exploring along my path today. An old Dunmer fortress, a small Dwarven ruin, abandoned ancestral tombs; the marshes abound with secrets, and I thirst to know. Of course the likelihood of plunder and riches does have a certain appeal as well. After my brief foray into Arkngthand the Dwarven ruin I discovered today was irresistible.

It was also convenient. In the mid afternoon I was getting fairly close to Gnaar Mok, and was just beginning to think 'too close'. I wanted to arrive under cover of darkness. With an eye half open to seeking shelter for a few hours I began to follow a more meandering path through the marshes. The ancient metal towers and unmistakable piping systems rose ahead of me like a gift. A gift with a steep price of danger attached. I now have a high regard for those who make their living looting Dwemer artifacts.

The ruin was small, just a couple of towers with a large subterainnian workspace underneath, nothing like the massive Arkngthand. What a testement to Dwemer engineering though. The Dwarves disappeared so long ago that they don't exist in the written records of the Empire, but their legacy lives on. The place was alive with constructs; centurions who have been on guard for an age. Gleaming metal spiders clattered about on six jointed legs. Rolling metal spheres erupted into sword armed warriors like the hatching of a mechanical egg. I felt some remorse at destroying these ancient machines, but the piercing legs of the spiders and the vicious cuts from the swords of the sphere centurions left me little alternative.

Any guilt that might plague me will be assuaged by the loot. There were actually very few artifacts in what was clearly a working shop rather than a luxurious home; a few bowls, a pitcher, some cups. What was lacking in artifacts was made up in material though. Stacks of gears made of gleaming Dwemer metal; metal which has never been duplicated since the disappearance of the Dwarves. Precious gems, raw glass, ebony, all in locked chests that also held an abundance of shining Dwemer coins. I will have to return for the metal and artifacts now that I have replaced my mark here. They are far too heavy to carry any distance. A couple days for the looters in Arkngthand to do their work and I will teleport their entire collection here also, hopefully including Hasphat's cube. First though I will return to my own little ruin, and also clear out the storage area in Shurinbaal. It would be better just to have everything here rather than be seen coming and going.

_**Day Thirty-three: Daedric shrine**_

Vvardenfell is certainly consistent. I find a new danger to life and limb on a daily basis it seems. Today I found out that the Dwarven ruins are even more dangerous than I thought, and I found a Daedric shrine where I barely survived. It is good to be home, and for tonight at least I wonder if I will ever go out again.

I rose early this morning, waded across to Shurinbaal, and ambled down to the storage area. I put all the remaining goods in a pile, then gathered them up and teleported myself home. A couple hours work and I had everything sorted and stowed. I think I will set up the armorers of Balmora to meet me in the Temple courtyard tomorrow and teleport myself there with all the spare armor and weapons that I have acquired. I could outfit a small army, but I would prefer to have their gold.

That task complete I set off for the Dwarven ruins to gather my artifacts and metal. I call it mine since I had eliminated all the guardians yesterday. I learned a valuable lesson about the Dwemer when I strolled casually into the ruins today. Safe yesterday means nothing today. I was immediately swarmed under by a centurion spider, a sphere warrior, and two ancient ghosts which I took to be the Dwemer themselves. How all these creatures appeared in the ruins overnight I will never know, but I will always be on guard entering such places in the future. I was forced to consume my last restorative to heal my wounds during the battle, but did dispatch all of my opponents and successfully return home with the metal and artifacts I went to retrieve.

I was down to my last restorative because I had used most of my supply shortly before. Coming at the ruins from a different direction gave me a different view, and as I approached I saw a towering structure on another nearby isle. Curious, I turned and swam ashore there. No sooner had I climbed out onto the stones than I was struck by a scorching bolt of magical flame, launched from somewhere amongst a cluster of pillars. I rolled frantically for cover with seawater steaming from my clothes, gulping the first of many restorative potions. I gathered myself behind a stone platform and peered cautiously towards the center of the structure. To my horror a flame atronach burst forth, waving its fiery arms. Burning eye pits fastened on me, and I ducked as another bolt of flame roared out to lick the stones where I had sheltered.

With spear in hand I held my ground at the corner of a large stone block. I could hear the crackle and hiss of the atronach approaching, and timed a ripping thrust that tore through its burning chest as it turned the corner. Gouts of flame leapt with the point as it tore through, but the atronach did not fall. One swipe of its flaming hand and I was again scuttling out of reach gulping restoratives. The monster bounded after me, intent on finishing me before the restoratives could take effect, and it nearly succeeded. Curative magic from within battled the flames that threatened to consume me from without, and I writhed in agony. Though half blinded with smoke and sickened from the smell of my own charring flesh I held on to the devil spear and entrusted my life to its enchanted point. My vision cleared to find the atronach, still smouldering, stretched on its back with my spear pinning it to the moist earth. I retrieved some of the crystals left from its rapidly disintigrating substance and used numerous charges from my belt to complete my own healing process.

Once healed I ventured into the center court of the Daedric shrine. It was indeed a Daedric shrine, a place where evil people gather to worship the evil Daedra. I had been told that in the troubled times currently besetting Morrowind the Daedric cults had gained a foothold and begun restoring such shrines. I had also been advised to avoid them. Now I know why. The atronach was not the only creature summoned from distant planes of existence to defend the site. A powerfully built Nord woman in elaborate bonemold armor stood on an elevated platform and watched dispassionately as I was beset by three two legged lizard creatures.

The lizards, which the Nord barbarian woman Holmgeira later identified as clannfears, delivered powerful strikes and bites with their beaks while fanlike structures spread from their skulls to protect their necks and bodies. I found myself once again gulping restoratives, and barely able to sustain myself against the rain of blows. Sustain I did, and eventually my spear took its toll and one of the creatures collapsed in a heap. With only two opponents the steady stream of restoratives began to carry the day, and I soon dispatched the two remaining clannfear. As each one fell Holmgeira raised an insincere round of applause, except for the last. When I looked up at her it was plain to see why. She held a bow loosely, an arrow nocked, ready and willing to draw and fire. I spoke quickly, in honeyed tones.

It was not easy to convince Holmgeira that I had no quarrel with her, or anyone else inside the shrine she called Addadshashanammu, but she did relent to letting me leave peacefully once I had promised not to make a quick move for the door. Holmgeira has fiery red hair, and a temper to match. I was happy to leave her cult's shrine behind without having to test her mettle.

Having teleported home with my load of Dwemer metal I set out to brew some new healing potions. I have worked deep into the night sifting through mountains of ingredients, and have found no new formulae. I will either have to buy more potions, or buy the ingredients that I know I can use. I settle into my bed disgusted with the entire field of alchemy.

_**Day Thirty-four: Armorer's fair**_

I am beset by doubts. Today I clung to safety, but I have no confidence in my grip. I have friendships. I have wealth. But whatever glimmers of security I have built for myself are just that, glimmers. The false lights that shine from baited gold, and lure men to their deaths. Men like my father.

The man I called my father would have been proud of me today. I teleported to the Balmora temple at first light and gathered all the armorers together. Like a carnival barker I made promises that had their eyes glowing with anticipation. They knew they would be bidding against each other when I reappeared, but I had built their spirits over a cheerful breakfast and they stood joking amongst themselves as I cast my recall spell to return home. I reappeared minutes later, laden with bundles of swords, stacked breastplates and greaves, and bags brimming with odd bits of armor. The auction went well, fulfilling my father's strongest guidance; "take their gold and leave them happy." If only I had followed that advice more often. The armorers bought me lunch at the Eight Plates, each claiming to have gotten great deals while jokingly ridiculing the others for their purchases. In truth they probably all overpaid, but such a good time was had by all that they are eager to do it again.

After lunch I ran to the ruins of Arkgnthand and slipped quietly through the massive portal. From high up on the cavern wall I watched. The Redguard I had seen before was again in the main cavern, with a companion. They were overseeing the operation, talking to others who came and went through massive doors on the lower level of the building. Occassionally they would take some item of particular interest to the upper level and through another massive door. From snatches of their conversation I gathered that they in turn were reporting to their boss, Creto, who was apparently beyond that door. I am comfortable that they are nowhere near moving on from the ruins. There is no rush to claim the cube from them, if they have found it yet.

They are looting a Dwemer site, and clearly criminals, but they are no worse than I used to be. They are working hard, and as I now know they are facing extraordinary risks. All in pursuit of wealth. Again my mind wandered to my father as I clung on the ledge. He took me in when my unknown parents left me abandoned in the streets of High Rock. I saw the good in him every day, but under that good was the heart of a rogue, and he met a rogue's end. Gold he really didn't need but couldn't resist, ambushed by townsmen who honestly wished it had been someone else they caught, and a jail cell that could not confine his roving spirit without killing him, which it promptly did. Now here I am. Prison contained me without killing me. I have enough gold that I could easily spurn any bait that is presented. The townsmen of Balmora call me friend. Father laughed off the oracle who shreiked that I was a child of destiny, congratulating her on the drama of her presentation, but I seem destined to meet my own rogue's end.

I left the ruins and walked back to Balmora in time for dinner at the guild hall. Good company can purge memories, and I enjoyed the evening, but as night closed in and the quiet settled I resolved to transport myself home. My melancholy seems unshakable tonight. The bait that lures me is security, but for me the only security calls for continuing forward, further into danger.

_**Day Thirty-five: Ruined at the Daedric ruin**_

Today I hid from destiny and returned to the simple life; mapping the coast and hunting in the swamps. That was the plan when I arose this morning anyway. The islands that the Dwarven tower and Daedric shrine lie on are part of a chain that arcs out into the sea to the southwest, and I put all my concerns aside and set out to explore that chain. I did not get far.

By mid morning I had passed the familiar ruins, skipping from outcrop to outcrop using my spell of water walking. I came ashore and began my explorations of the larger islands of the chain. Sketching maps, watching the netch float peacefully about, skewering the occasional cliff racer, gorging on mudcrabs; I let my cares drift. Not like I stopped thinking about them; the Dark Brotherhood, the Cammona Tong, my responsibilities to the Blades, Ranis Athrys persistent use of me as a thug for the Mage Guild. In little over a month I have become thoroughly embroiled in the swirl of Morrowind events. Such were my thoughts as the twisted towers of another Daedric site rose ahead of me. I am not alone in being affected by these troubled times. Like Addadshashanammu this site has been revitalized by a new Daedric cult, gathered in secret to worship and empower the bad Daedra.

A Daedric shrine, with a cult of worshippers, provides a powerful portal between planes of existence. This access allows the Daedric servants who are normally only seen when summoned by conjurers to roam freely into our plane. Fortunately this particular shrine seems to have only attracted the relatively weak scamps rather than the voracious clannfears and fearsome atronach I faced before. Scamps can be dangerous as they do have sharp claws, but they tend to panic when struck solidly which makes them easy to finish off. Much easier than the high Elven conjurer who I encountered near the entrance to the shrine. I suppose I should have known from Holmgeira's initial hostility the other day that I would not be welcomed with open arms by a Daedra cult.

Before I could even say hello, the Altmer conjured a horribly misshapen creature. It was familiar, similar to the creatures I encountered in a tomb, but seeing it with the bright sunshine reflecting off of its oozing flesh made it all the more horrifying. The conjurer called it a bonewalker. Gasping sounds that may have been words tore from the beast's ragged throat, and I could feel my own muscles sag with decay. Desperately I hacked at the creature with my spear as the conjurer scrambled to a safe distance. The bonds that held the monster in pseudo life failed quickly under the onslaught of the devil spear, but the ill effects it had had on me remained. My spear was a terrible burden in my weakened hands as I charged the Altmer. Had he fled I am sure I could not have endured a chase.

Rather than flee the villainous Altmer opted to conjure another bonewalker. This time I would not allow myself to be distracted. Knowing that the spell would be broken with the fall of the conjurer I drove my spear with all my remaining strength into his unarmored chest. He jerked violently, like a gaffed fish, but clung to life. The bonewalker struck, and my limbs weakened even further. The devil spear which had served me so well became too heavy to hold and slipped from my desperate grip. I lunged forward onto the collapsing Altmer, praying that as we fell the spear lodged in his chest would twist its way into some vital organ and end his life. The ragged gasping of the bonewalker sounded in my ears like eerie laughter. Then it faded off as if to a great distance. The Altmer was dead.

I pulled myself across the corpse to get a grip on my spear. The effort left me near exhaustion, and I could not escape the sickening stench of the blood that had welled from the conjurer's shattered heart. With weakened gestures and shuddering incantation I cast my recall spell. When I appeared on the deck of my shack I abandoned my spear, and rolled free of my bow and quivers as well. Exhausted legs struggled free of my bonemold boots, and I dropped my bloodied clothes into the sea. I struggled to my feet and dragged my pack inside to be left at the door. I could not trust my strength for a cleansing dip in the ocean, and struggled into a rough robe and light sandals with only a cursory wiping off of the gory mess. My brain fogged with exhaustion and I could not trust myself to cast the spell on my own. I drew a scroll from my pack and read, unleashing the mystical energies that would sweep me across the distance. As I appeared once more in the courtyard of the Balmora temple I collapsed in a heap.

Although Feldrelo Sadri, Mistress of the Temple, has taken a strong disliking to me, she did not refuse me when some of the other temple priests half carried me to the Tribunal Shrine. I made a humble offering and the power of the Tribunal was invoked to restore my strength and endurance. I tried to press some additional gold on the priestess in gratitude, but that was clearly a mistake. Judging by her strident rebuke I would be well advised to stay clear of her presence. I suspect nothing short of joining the Temple as an initiate will appease her. Fortunately I have made friends among the lesser priests on my various forays to the city, and Feldrelo's ire did not keep them from assisting me once we were safely out of her sight. Their assistance was of course not free; they clearly do not share their leader's distaste for 'ill-gotten adventurer gold'. I learned an array of spells which will allow me to recover my strength, endurance, or any other attribute lost in battle with undead or Daedric monsters I may encounter. The spells are a bit complicated. I may have to spend some time improving my restoration skills.

When the dinner gong rang through the Temple I thanked my benefactors and headed for the guild hall. I immersed myself in the camaraderie with a sigh of gratitude. I don't think I could live there, but it is so nice to be a welcome visitor. Galbedir has apparently forgiven me and we had a lively conversation about charging soul gems. She has ambition, but it is tempered by her taste for fancy robes and the comforts of the guild hall. She does not seem inclined to the dirty work. The way she listened to my tales of cliff racers and netch I had faced, with ooohs and ahhhhs and her small hand gripping my arm...well I clearly understand how men fall prey to the charms of the wood elves. She made me feel heroic.

After dinner Ranis called me aside. She is so protective of the guild. She had mentioned the unsanctioned healer who was offering training before, and had obviously gnawed at this problem continuously in my absence. In her office she got right to the point; "Bren, what's your status with the thieve's guild?"

I stammered a vague reply. I haven't been a member of the Thieve's Guild since leaving High Rock, and even there I was just a token apprentice registered by my father. "Ranis, I would not join another guild!"

"Relax, relax, I'm not trying to find a reason to purge you from the Guild. There is an Argonian offering training at the South Wall Cornerclub. I know you have frequented the South Wall, and I'm sure you've noticed that many of the patrons there are...a bit unsavory."

I could see where this conversation was headed. "Yes. The South Wall is clearly the local hangout for thieves. I think I know the Argonian you mean. Quiet, like most of his kind. His name translates as Only-He-Stands-There. Ranis, I've made some friends at the South Wall. I don't want to go in there and kill this Argonian."

She looked a bit irritated, but shrugged. "Who said anything about killing the lizard? We aren't a band of thugs." I couldn't help replaying in my mind the numerous times Ranis had said 'or kill them' at the end of her requests. "You say you have friends there. Talk to them. Talk to this Argonian healer." I was familiar with her expression as she said this. Whenever Ranis mentions anyone with any skill in the mage's arts who is not in the guild she looks like she just bit into a piece of spoiled fruit.

"I'll talk to him. I'm sure this can be worked out." I scampered out of her office before things could get any more strained.

When Ajira heard that I was headed for the South Wall she invited herself along. I was happy for the company, and the South Wall usually has an abundance of Khajiit. The cat people are often skilled in the thieving arts, so a hangout for thieves can usually be identified by looking for them. I thought of the taciturn Wadarkhu in Gnaar Mok, obviously a ranking member; and from what I had gathered a Khajiit called Habasi runs the guild in Balmora. Ajira seemed sympathetic, and I found myself telling her about feeling like Ranis was using me as a thug more than a mage.

"But good friend Arvil Bren," she purred, "you are so brave, and face so many dangers. Ranis can not help but be impressed." She laid her paw on my shoulder, extending her claws to very gently rake my skin. Suddenly I had a twinge of foreboding about what Ajira and Galbedir might be betting on now. She did give me a valuable suggestion. Her friend Edwinna is the guild steward in Ald-ruhn, and Edwinna is more interested in research than the recruiting and politics. I could probably improve my standing by assisting her without having to browbeat anyone into the guild.

Overall the evening went well. Only-He-Stands-There was agreeable, after a few drinks, and will curtail his training. I'm sure he isn't really going to stop, but will be far more circumspect and probably limit himself to members of the Thieve's Guild. Arriving with an affectionate Khajiit on my arm raised my status with Habasi, who I am now certain is in charge around here, and she directly offered me an opportunity to join the Thieve's Guild.

On the way back to the Guild Hall Ajira was again embarrassingly admiring, this time praising my diplomacy with the Argonian. She also commented on Habasi, but lapsed into the gutterals and hisses of Khajiiti. I caught a bit that might have referred to 'scratching her eyes out'. We had both drank a fair quantity of sujamma; Galbedir was glaring again when we boisterously returned; and Ranis was satisfied with my brief report. Discretion is the better part of valor. I transported home rather than risk the sleeping chambers of the hall.

_**Day Thirty-six: The puzzle box**_

I rose with the dawn this morning and again transported myself to Balmora. I could no longer ignore the call of duty and destiny. The time had come to return to Arkngthand in search of the puzzle box. I hoped that the looters had found it, and even more wildly hoped that they would just turn it over. While I was at it I might as well have hoped that a cliff racer would glide down from the skies and clarify the mysteries of my life for me.

I jogged to the ruins and turned the crank to reveal the doors. I crept inside. My goal was to meet the looters from the head down. The layout of the main entry cavern favored me. Lying on a ledge I watched the building which forms the east side of the huge hall. The main operatives continued their work on the lower level of the building, occasionally climbing to the second level to disappear through a round iron door. Behind that door, I believed, would be the head man of the group. I used my levitation boots and floated down to that upper platform, completely avoiding the sight of the operatives below.

I quietly explored before venturing through the door. The Dwemer built everything with metal it seems. A desk, which would have been stout and sturdy in any material, stood here placed for the ages. Tables, chairs, a small stove; all in the same grey steel. The mundane metal of the furniture served as background for the intricately worked cups and pitcher which graced a shelf, and a gleaming spear which leaned against the desk. The keen edges and delicate balance of the spear were a joy in my hands. Exploration complete I took a brief admiring look at the view out into the cavern, then turned to the round steel door.

I entered as quietly as I could, but immediately drew the scrutiny of a large man in an iron breastplate. The expression on his face left me little hope of a peaceful settlement for the cube. "There is an artifact here that I need," I told him. "Barring that single item you can loot these ruins to the last scrap of tin for all I care."

"I can loot these ruins to the last scrap whether you care or not," he replied. "Imperial law, Dwarven specters, ancient machines. None of those have stopped me. Who do you think you are, Breton?" Whoever I might have thought I was, I was sure the axe he wielded was meant to change my mind.

We circled warily as we spoke, and I worked my way far enough into the room to see that it was stacked with crates. Nearby a shelving unit of stout Dwemer construction held an assortment of artifacts. On the lowest shelf gleamed a perfect cube, intricately carved in ancient runes. I considered a lunge for the cube and a quick teleport to safety. "Listen," I said, "I really want no quarrel with you." I flashed a hand signal, a sign of recognition used in the Theive's Guild in High Rock. I had seen it used and accepted in the South Wall Cornerclub. Though not an active member I hoped it would buy me some favor, but it passed unnoticed. Perplexed, I had to ask "Where are you from, Creto? You don't seem a regular thief."

"I am no thief, Breton scum." He lunged with the axe, and I dodged aside. "Though the Emperor has declared all newly recovered Dwemer artifacts to be Imperial property, Orvas Dren, brother of the Duke himself, holds prior claim to this site. I am under his orders, and you will die for your interference." I ducked under a broad roundhouse swing of the huge blade, spear limber in my hands. My inclination to take the cube and leave the looters to their work was rapidly boiling away. Rumor around the South Wall had it that Orvas Dren was the real power behind the Cammona Tong.

"So you are no thief, but you are clearly no native Dunmer. How did Dren choose you as a footstool for the Cammona Tong? Or were you just cheerfully kneeling when he came along looking to wipe his feet?" The conversation ended there, as there was no longer a question that only one of us would survive the day. Creto was weighed down by a pack laden with artifacts. His great strength may have carried the day against some, but life in Vvardenfell has honed my skills with the spear to a razor's edge. He died groveling and exhausted. I took the cube, and some other artifacts, and transported myself once again to Balmora.

Hasphat received the cube gleefully, turning it over and over in his calloused hands. He gave me a compilation of his information on the Sixth House Cult to give to Caius, and suggested Sharn gra-Muzgob, the Mage Guild's own orc healer, would know far more than he about the Nerevarine Prophecies. The sixth house, House Dagoth, was destroyed and dispersed in the first age after betraying the other Dunmer great houses in what he called the War of the First Council. I don't know what connection this ancient house could have to a dangerous cult in modern day Morrowind. Neither did Caius, but he wants to know, so it appears I will have to find out. While he studies the references that Hasphat provided, Caius has sent me to find out what Sharn knows about the Nerevarine.

Sharn gra-Muzgob is always a surprise to me. She is so smart for an orc, but has all the charm that one might expect from those greenskinned folk. That would be none. I have gotten along with her, well enough to buy potions anyway, but she is always disgruntled when disturbed and today was no exception. And when I mentioned Caius she didn't break into smiles, but did show a flash of cunning. "Ah. So it's Caius that is behind you interrupting me with your questions. Well Arvil Bren, doing research for Caius isn't exactly part of your duties here in the guild, is it? So there's really no good reason for me to put my own research aside to help you, is there?" She turned back to her books, but paused. "Of course, you could perhaps help me with something in turn, so I would have time to produce a report for Caius."

Caius clearly sees no sense in just paying for information. The Blades budget is apparently balanced on my time and risk of life and limb. Now I am headed back to the Bitter Coast to delve into yet another tomb. This one I suspect not the long abandoned variety with which I am familiar. Sharn would have me retrieve the skull of a most revered individual from its entombment. She provided me with some useful equipment for the journey, but her warnings about upsetting the locals leave me feeling very uneasy. The skull has to be returned quietly, as Sharn worries quite a bit about the temple suspecting she is a necromancer. Where there's smoke there's fire, and I hope Sharn doesn't find herself stuck in one of those fires by the temple ordinators.

I teleported home for a good night's sleep before setting off on this next task, but it was denied me. I unloaded my pack on the deck of the shack, as usual, but things were not as usual. My pile of Dwemer cogs was shifted slightly, but noticeably, and when I looked closely I found a long Khajiit whisker sticking out from under them. I could think of no explanation. How could a whisker end up under the heavy stack unless it had been moved? I scanned what I considered to be my island carefully, and turned a wary eye to my own door. Slowly I began shifting the stack of heavy cogs. Underneath I found a note from Wadarkhu:

"Wadarkhu knows you are careful Arvil Bren, so I think you will find this note where no one else would look. There is an outlander looking for you. We tell him nothing, but the Cammona Tong will sell their mothers for a bit of gold or a sharp sword. Watch your back."

The gruff and surly Wadarkhu had given me a fair warning. Apparently he had more of a sense for where I stood in the gang war than I had let on. As Calislahn the Dryad would say, fore-warned is fore-armed. I used the tip of my spear to pull open my door, and ducked as a deadly dart shot over my shoulder into the marsh.

The assassin followed, armed with a heavily enchanted Dwemer shortsword. Had I walked in unsuspecting I would have surely been slain. Poison coursed through me at every prick of the blade, but having reversed the surprise gave me a strong advantage, enough to dispatch yet another hired killer. The Dark Brotherhood has raised the standard in what they are sending after me. Once again I have escaped, but I am tormented by a question. Where am I to escape to now?

_**Day Thirty-seven: Where the heart is**_

As they saying goes, when a door closes another opens. Tonight I feel as much at home as I have since being thrown into an Imperial prison in the wake of a misguided burglary. The village of Pelagiad could be plunked down in the middle of High Rock somewhere and no one would guess it came from the far reaches of Morrowind. A day that started out so miserable has come to a fine end!

Early this morning I went into Gnaar Mok to visit Wadarkhu. I wanted to thank him for his warning, and I did, but in turn got an even grimmer warning. Wadarkhu has been getting a lot of pressure from the local authorities. The disappearance of a minor coast guard officer has raised the stakes by drawing the Imperial Legion into the mix. The Cammona Tong, with it's connections high in the great house Hlaalu, has laid the blame squarely at Wadarkhu's feet. The Theive's Guild, reknowned for operating with finesse and subterfuge, is beginning to melt under the close Imperial scrutiny, while known members of the Tong walk the streets openly longing for the day the outlanders are driven from Morrowind. It is madness, but it is clear that my activities have done at least as much harm as good.

With a heavy heart I loaded my armor, weapons, and Dwemer artifacts into crates and sunk them under the shack. I picked a few ingredients of known value to leave behind for now, and loaded the rest of my alchemy supplies into sacks. I will be back to reclaim my possessions, probably coming and going rapidly in the night. Gathering the sacks of hides, plants, crystals and other miscellany I transported myself to Balmora. The local alchemists had a field day filling their larders with rare ingredients. The gold in my pouch did little to ease the ache in my chest as my highly prized lab dissipated away.

From Sharn's directions I have a very good idea where the tomb is located, and rather than follow the roads she recommended I set out across the mountains. Some places were too steep to climb, but my levitation boots made them passable. Passable for me. Difficult for anyone trying to follow. I paused frequently, on hilltops, outcrops, and ledges. It gave me opportunities to take down game, but more importantly I carefully scrutinized my backtrail. After a long afternoon winding through and over the hills I descended into Pelagiad, certain that I had not been followed.

What I found when I entered the village was a town straight out of High Rock. The Imperial Fortress dominates the view to the east, and were it not there there would be no village. Soldiers leaving the legion here took land for their mustering out pay and started the village. Their way of life and architecture attracted others, and the village grew. Though there are Dunmer here, they are not the overwhelming majority they are elsewhere, and even most of the Dunmer are not native born. It really is a piece of home.

I checked myself in at the Halfway Tavern, getting a good meal and a room for the night from Drelasa Ramothran. She is a magnificent cook and runs a well stocked bar in the common room downstairs. Though she is a Dunmer her accent gives her away as having come here from somewhere; possibly Cyrodiil or even my own native province of High Rock. As I was enjoying my dinner I surveyed the rest of the patrons. I am comforted to have once again found myself at the informal meeting place of the Thieve's Guild.

While I was unobtrusively studying the locals they were studying me, some with far less subtlety than I was exercising myself. As I finished my meal a striking Khajiit slid into a nearby seat and purred a greeting. Her name is Ahnassi. Even with the attention I have been getting from Ajira, and to some extent Habasi, it had not really occurred to me that a Khajiit woman could have any kind of amorous intention towards me, but as Ahnassi says, we are all outlanders here. A bard struck up a merry tune, and we danced. She commended me for my smooth moves, and when I protested that I was no acrobat, and in fact felt clumsy next to her incredible feline grace she hushed me, saying that if I wasn't I should be. The way she moved, her open affection, my long imprisonment, and the sujamma combined to work some sort of magic. By evening's end I had looked past the soft downy fur and slitted pupils, and was seeing a lovely woman. She pressed, and I promised to visit Pelagiad frequently. I did not tell her that I currently have no place else to call home.

While we danced Ahnassi told me about the others. The music was provided not by an actual bard, but a dashing Dunmer rogue named Nelos Onmar. She was not anxious to introduce the conjurer Samia, a Bosmer. Without offending the woodelf I made clear to Ahnassi my growing preference for women with stripes, and the tension eased from her lithe shoulders. In talking to her there were mentions of extensive time training in secluded monasteries, and I suspect that in unarmed combat Ahnassi would be a startlingly dangerous foe. Samia definitely showed no inclination to cross her, but of course she probably wasn't interested in me to start with. Same with the Cyrodiil, Ladia. While she was charming, she really couldn't have distracted me anyway. The only really difficult moment for Ahnassi came when a red haired Nord woman swept through the room and up the stairs.

"That one is Hrordis", Ahnassi hissed gently in my ear. "My new friend Arvil Bren should stay away from her."

I protested my lack of interest in the Nord woman, but that was not Ahnassi's actual concern. Being the smooth gliding thief that she is, Ahnassi lets no secret go unexplored, and apparently Hrordis is secretly a worshipper of the bad Daedra. Ahnassi has slipped into her room and seen a belt which is inscribed with Daedric runes. Hrordis frosty air made it easy for me to agree to steer clear of her, especially with this beautiful woman purring in my arms as we danced far into the night.

_**Day Thirty-eight: Depths of the tomb**_

I woke this morning and had an excellent breakfast. The comforts of the Halfway Tavern are alluring, and I somehow doubt I will miss the shack. There is definitely something to be said for having a place to call my own though. I am considering exploring the hills nearby for a cave that I can use for shop and lab space. But for today there was work to be done.

The Andrano family tomb is not far to the south, and it was not hard to find. Well before noon I stood at the entrance bolstering my courage. I remembered my previous experiences in similar tombs. I told myself that I am better equipped, more skilled with spear and bow, and much better versed in the arts of magic. Gripping my spear with whitening knuckles I ventured into the dimly lit tunnel and started down the long narrow stair into the depths. Letting me know how welcome I would not be here, a fresh corpse sprawled at the base of the stair.

I cautiously approached the foppishly dressed body, and was startled to recognize the young Dunmer face. I had seen this man, barely a week earlier, at the guild hall in Balmora! With my heart in my throat I realized that I was not the first to be sent here by Sharn. Only time could tell if I would be the last. I Edged around the dead man so as not to stir up a cloud of flies and rounded the corner into the first burial chamber, clinging to the shadows , barely breathing. I have become fairly confident in my skills with the longbow, and held my enchanted bow in my hands with an arrow charged with magical electricity ready to draw.

Down a hallway to my left I saw a wandering spirit swaying, translucent in the torchlight. I drew and fired, counting on the enchantment of the arrow to carry across the dimensional barriers. There was a flash of lightning and the arrow clattered to the floor covered in green ectoplasm. The ghost was dispatched completely back to the land of the dead. As I crept down the hall I smiled at the faint whiff of ozone lingering in the air.

I followed the long curving passage until it came to a right hand corner, which I peered cautiously around. Wasted caution. I found myself looking down a flight of stairs, directly into the blazing eye sockets of a skeletal archer. I jerked backwards and a blazing arrow shattered against the wall behind me. I ran noisily a few feet up the passage, then turned and drew my spear. Stealthily I leapt back to the corner, any noise I made lost in the clatter of bony feet charging up the stairs. As my nemesis reached the corner I caught him with a shattering roundhouse blow that scattered bones and arrows like straws in a high wind. I gathered the flame arrows. Their enchantment is even stronger than my shock arrows. I am happy to have them added to my arsenal.

The guardian from the bottom of the stairs safely dispatched I considered going down to the chamber below, but there was a door on my right at the top of the stair. I paused to listen, fearful that something within could emerge behind me. Although there was no sound, I could not take the risk. Easing the door open a crack I looked in; a burial chamber with another skeletal guardian. The skeleton stood unmoving at the far end of the room, near a slightly raised pit which had obviously been well used; it nearly overflowed with the ashes of the dead. In the bony right hand an iron saber hung ready, on the left arm a round iron shield. I eased back and brought an arrow to full draw, then kicked open the door. As the skeleton spun to attack the spark arrow caught him full in the exposed ribcage. A flash of lightning and the shield and saber clattered to the floor among the charred bones. On the edge of the ashpit lay a heart, still beating. I could not resist taking this ghoulish souvenir.

Stealth and enchantment continued to carry the day as I entered the chamber at the base of the stair. Another skeletal guardian peered down a passage at the far end of the large space, apparently unconcerned by the earlier departure of his companion. Nothing was coming from the portal it was responsible for, and it never saw me enter and release the shaft that reduced it to a smoking ruin. In a place of honor a sturdy wooden chest held a mighty Nordic axe, scribed with runes. It was obviously a prize claimed in battle by some long dead Andrano family ancestor, and I elected to leave it undisturbed.

Continuing through the large room I found myself in a short passage, which ended at a door to yet another burial vault. The Andranos have obviously prospered through the centuries. This vault was also well used, but unguarded. I let myself hope that having passed the main chamber I had passed the guards. The short hall offered a side door, and I opened it to find another hall curving deeper still. I hugged the wall, bow in hand, and descended. The builders of the tomb could not get deep enough with the sloping path, and when the tunnel straightened I stood at the top of yet another flight of stairs. How deep below ground was I, I wondered; and how deep would I have to go?

By good luck and good timing I came down the stairs behind another skeletal warrior, this one carrying a vicious halberd at port arms as he paced away down the hall. I crouched on the stairs to see his heels turn around a distant corner, then scuttled quickly down the remaining steps. On my right at the bottom was a door, and I could hear the tortured gasping of a bonewalker. I wedged the edge of the iron shield I had claimed under the door, and lay in wait. As expected, the halberd wielding guardian eventually returned, and seeing me began a doomed charge down the hall. Despite the limited space it did try to avoid my arrows, and even succeeded, once; but long before it could reach me this undead warrior joined its fellows in a flash of lightning and a puff of ozone. The huffing and chuffing of the bonewalker grew very animated, but the door seemed proof against its best efforts. I went to see what lay beyond the distant corner.

Following the narrow stone hall around the corner and to its end led me to a door, which opened into the crypt's chapel. A lectern held a book, no doubt holy to the Dunmer, and the rows of kneeling benches made the room's purpose clear at a glance. A glance being all I spared it as my attention was drawn to a high gallery that encompassed the room. Looking up to the heights of the ceiling I wondered if this chapel could save me the long climb to the surface. I activated my boots and floated up the central open well. A door on the gallery level looked like it would lead back to the entry chamber, and the bonewalker who stood guarding the door was completely unaware that I had risen from the depths behind it. I drew my bow and nocked an arrow, expecting a clean kill.

As I began to draw a sudden impact just below my right shoulder threw me forward onto my face, and blazing agony engulfed my back. Writhing in pain I could not respond as the levitation charge wore off, and I hurtled to a bonebreaking fall on the stone floor below. I rolled, shrieking as broken bones ground against each other, and saw a grinning skull peering down on me from the gallery above, the end of a longbow peeking over the parapet alongside. The skull was quickly withdrawn. I assumed it was satisfied that I would soon be dead. I dragged a mangled hand to my healing belt, and forced the short incantation past my bloodied lips. My bones knit as I sent charge after charge of restorative magic through my broken body. Eventually I was able to reach behind my back and yank the spent flame arrow free, allowing yet further charges from my belt to heal the charred flesh and the deep wound. Soon I was completely healed in body, left with only my pride to be recovered.

I cast my levitation spell. It allowed for a much faster rise to the gallery level, and would sustain far longer than my boots. I rose fast, spinning and weaving, only to find the gallery abandoned. Spell still active I floated out the open door, along a short hallway, and through a second door which did indeed open into the entry chamber. The skeleton archer was not satisfied, it was obviously racing down the long flights to finish me off! I rushed in pursuit, but before I had gone far cold reasoning joined my blazing fury.

It dawned on me that when my adversaries reached the chapel far below and found me gone, they would turn and race back the way they had come. I had no desire to run headlong into a collision. I slid to a stop, then crept along the curving passage listening carefully. The passage straightened, and the distant corner where I had ambushed the other archer came into view. The bones scattered there suggested a repeat performance, but timing was not on my side. The archer who had laid me low pounded around the corner and skidded to a halt drawing its bow. I drew my own and we exchanged fire. I threw myself erratically from side to side, pausing to aim only when my bow was fully drawn, and the skeleton did the same. I was struck a glancing blow, which blazed with magical fire, but it was no match for the cold malice in my heart and I continued to launch my deadly shafts. My target was less durable, and finally fell in a shower of sparks and smoke.

While I had shrugged off my wound to continue the battle I was clearly not ready to start another. When the archer's companion hulked around the corner I turned and fled rather than face the gruesome bonewalker. As I ran I activated my belt yet again, and it quickly soothed the charred flesh of my shoulder. I stopped at the next long stretch of straight hall and waited, no longer the prey. A bonewalker is not put together for speed, and it fell easily in a hail of arrows. Ozone competed with the stench of burnt flesh as I claimed the soulgem that lay at the heart of the monster.

Back on the chapel level I stood at the door that penned in the now irate bonewalker. The shield had moved slightly, but remained thoroughly wedged under the door. The skull I needed had to lie somewhere beyond that door. Would it open on a final burial vault, or even more seemingly endless passages winding into the depths? In either event I was going to have to face the oozing monstrosity that pounded on the other side of the door. I kicked the shield free and ran for the far end of the hall where it turned for the chapel. The bonewalker was surprised by the sudden release and staggered through the doorway to smack wetly against the opposite wall. I rounded the corner unseen. A brief pause to fully draw my bow and I popped back around the corner. The bonewalker had guessed wrong, and I could just see its feet disappearing up the stairs beyond the open door.

I rushed in pursuit and reached the bottom of the stairs in time to plant an arrow deep in the fleshy back of the hulking creature. The arc of lightning left hunks of muscle hanging loosely, and they swung wildly as the monster turned. A second shot blasted it backwards onto the stairs, and it fell still. Thankfully, beyond the door was an ornate burial chamber, the crypt of the enchanter, Llevule Andrano. I claimed the skull, and a cruelly enchanted ceremonial dagger. Sharn will get the skull, the dagger will grace my collection if I ever again have a home.

I returned to Pelagiad tired and scarred, but healthy. Ahnassi fussed over me. There was no hiding the holes and burns that had reduced my shirt to a rag. There is a merchant across the street from the Halfway Tavern, a Breton like myself. I will get myself a new shirt in the morning. For now I will relax under the purring ministrations of my new friend.

_**Day Thirty-nine: Ald-ruhn**_

Today I have traveled far, mostly by teleportation, and I will rest comfortably knowing the Dark Brotherhood would have no reason to think to look for me here in Ald-ruhn. Edwinna Elbert has given me a comfortable room of my own here in the guild hall. I suppose arriving as an established member with the rank of Evoker gave me more initial status than I had wandering in from the swamps to join the guild in Balmora. Bringing greetings from her friend Ajira certainly didn't hurt my welcome either.

My head is slightly aswirl tonight. I met too many people today. Dinner here at the guild hall was hectic with new names, new faces, and terms that were unfamiliar to me. Talk of 'under Skar' left me quite confused until Vala Catraso saw my plight and explained the term. Apparently the House Redoran council chamber, councilor's manors and the upper crust of Ald-ruhn all can be found under the ancient shell of a giant crab, known as Skar. I felt compelled after dinner to go out and see this wonder. It is indeed immense, covering the entire north end of the city.

I had not seen Skar, or anything else of Ald-ruhn for that matter, because I arrived through the magical transport of a guild guide. These specialists provide instant transportation between all the guild halls on Vvardenfell. I think I will establish my enchanting lab and library here in the room Edwinna assigned me, since it will be easily accessed from any guild hall. This is a good place for a library. Edwinna stresses scholarship, and Vala is actually running a school right in the guild hall, teaching ashlanders to read. I wonder though if Edwinna's studies are purely theoretical. She has asked me to find her a copy of a very rare book, The Chronicles of Nehuleft. She is clearly studying the Dwemer in great depth, and a passing comment or two leads me to believe she is actually trying to construct her own versions of the Dwemer centurions. A risky proposition. The Dwemer are considered an ancient menace by the Tribunal Temple, trafficking in Dwemer artifacts is a crime against the Empire, and the question of how to control such a construct is another serious consideration.

I will not be the one to hinder her though, since I have my own secrets regarding Dwemer artifacts. This morning I met the Pelagiad trader Mebestien Ence, a fellow Breton. Ahnassi had given me a little inside information about his inventory, and when the guard posted in his shop had gone out of earshot I broached the subject. Ence does indeed traffic in Dwemer artifacts, and I told him that I would be returning with some for him to purchase. I claimed a cave near Pelagiad to use for storage and left a new mark, and I will be transporting all my possessions there as soon as I can make the trek to Gnaar Mok.

The cave is small, and even though the former residents apparently lived there I don't really want to become some sort of cave dwelling hermit bandit. The towering Nord and his partner will have to be disposed of when I return. No ready access to a sea of slaughterfish unfortunately. They were obviously bandits and I'm sure they will not be missed. Among their loot I found an engraved silver bowl that obviously did not belong to them. I may visit the East Empire Company and try to locate the owner. A selfless good deed to ease my conscience? While I have confined myself mostly to the bandits and thugs of the Cammona Tong the death that I am leaving in my wake is starting to weigh on me. Today's harmless bandit couple perhaps most of all.

I am proceeding on my fated task, however. In fact Caius is so happy that he promoted me to Blades Apprentice when I brought him Sharn's notes on the Nerevarine Prophecies. I am troubled though. The prophecy involves someone born of uncertain parentage on a certain day, my birthday. Is the Empire thinking of trying to pass me off as this Nerevarine? The Tribunal Temple makes a habit of imprisoning, torturing, or roasting claimants to Nerevar's mantle. Being pushed forward as a possibility would make for a short and unpleasant stay here, but would go far towards explaining my sudden release from prison. Another line in the prophecy called The Stranger says the Nerevarine shall be stalked by the wicked. Could that be the Dark Brotherhood? And is the Emperor sending them after me himself to give the appearance of prophecy fulfilled? I delivered the skull to Sharn to get answers, and ended up with questions. Caius needs a few days to read and plan, hopefully he will be able to make some things clearer when I see him again.

In the interim I will find this book for Edwinna and get myself cleared from Gnaar Mok. It is a long walk from here to the coast. I will have time to think.

_**Day Forty: Good deeds**_

My conscience is eased. I did good deeds today, without thought of reward. My former life, and the sympathy it engenders for banditry is another step further behind me. Sent glimmering into the past by a fiery haired Dunmer woman.

I set out this morning in the pre-dawn mists, headed west from Ald-ruhn. I was told there was no marked path to the coast, so I entrusted myself to direction by the sun and followed my shadow. The Ashland wastes provide few obstacles, and the occasional rocky ridge I could levitate over if need be. My objective was to get clear of the Ashlands, perhaps reach the coast, by days end. The first opportunity to do good presented itself as the sun still climbed through mid-morning.

I topped a small rise, not so steep that I had to levitate, and came upon one of the many trails that seem to run haphazardly through the wastes. Standing at the trail's edge was a Nord, who immediately boomed a less than friendly greeting. "Speak to me now, or when this enchantment ends I will bathe in your blood." I have almost had my fill of boorish Nords, and must admit that sticking an arrow or two into the broad bare chest crossed my mind, but my temper was stayed by the obvious predicament the fool was in. The Nord was paralyzed, frozen in place, wearing only a loincloth between boot clad feet and fur trimmed helm. Rather than kill the great oaf I stood on the hilltop and roared with laughter.

When I had gotten my breath, and calmed the stricken warrior enough to converse, I heard the whole sad tale. Hisin Deep-Raed it turns out had taken on employment as a bodyguard guide to a woman, who apparently has some skill in witchcraft and reportedly is quite attractive. The big Nord was loathe to admit the attractive part though, since he fairly boiled at every mention of his erstwhile employer. My own guess is that he was a little too attracted, and his state of undress speaks volumes of his intentions. For his part he claims no idea why she would do such a thing, but the witch woman opted to paralyze him and leave him on display when she moved on this morning. I made it a point not to laugh any further at this turn of events, and was forgiven my previous outburst when my spell cured Hisin's ailment and set him free to move.

Much to my surprise he rewarded me with his enchanted helm, Icecap, which has a permanent protection from frost cast upon it. I thanked him with a hearty clap on his bare shoulder and continued merrily on my way, leaving him fairly raving about how he would be dashing the witches brains out on the first handy rock when he found her. I did not ask how he thought he was going to avoid her magic the second time around. He did not seem in the mood for questions.

With that good deed behind me I continued on, crossing out of the ashlands into the green hills of the West Gash region. I was welcomed by an angry nix-hound. This grayish green waist high carnivore runs rapidly on four legs which end in broad three toed feet. They are ill-tempered, but not overly dangerous or durable. I made a very satisfying lunch of him.

With a full belly and a spring in my step I was in perfect shape for my next encounter. In a lush little valley stood my red haired vision, surrounded by her guar herd. Drulene Falen is a Dunmer, native born though not on Vvardenfell. She is not fond of the ruling house in her native Tear, and is quite happy with the lax governance of the Redorans. Of course their laxity is magnified because she is in a fairly remote area, which lead to my second good deed of the day.

Although the Redorans are a very martial house, they do not regularly get out to this far flung corner of their district, and Drulene and her neighbors have been being preyed upon without defense. Early this morning she lost one of her guar to a pair of marauding mudcrabs. I could not imagine mudcrabs taking down a guar, or facing a spirited herder, even if she wielded nothing more than a broom, but these were not the ordinary mudcrabs. I followed the bloody trail through a nearby pass into the bracing salt air of the bitter coast. The crabs had stopped at the first bit of swampy ground, and were lolling about gorged on guar meat. I marveled again that they had gone so far afield, but dispatched them without mercy. I butchered what was left of the guar and returned to Drulene.

We feasted on crabmeat and hackle-lo leaf and talked far into the evening. She is boldly independent, living here on the fringe of settled Morrowind, but very good company. Though she did not ask directly and I did not portray myself as some sort of assassin, I will take some time tomorrow to seek out a group of bandits she says have been operating in the area and dissuade them from disrupting this beautiful woman's idyllic farm.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Day Forty-one: Heart of the Dunmer**_

Frequently I have heard the hissed "outlander" from some passing Dunmer and felt outrage. Often I have felt the sting of their prejudice. Often I have felt that kindred spirit with the bandit, the rogue, the opportunist. Today I feel none of that.

I left this morning after enjoying breakfast with Drulene. I said nothing about returning, and she did not ask. She squealed with delight when I returned this evening though, but perhaps it had more to do with the two guar I led. One of the guar belongs to a neighbor, and Drulene will return it tomorrow, the other was the prize of her herd.

I headed south this morning, searching for any sign that would lead me to the camp of the bandits that had plagued the area. I thought to reason with them. As the morning wore away and my path seemed to wind fruitlessly through the grassy hills I began to doubt that I would find them, and began to wonder at myself for the effort. I could think of no excuse to return to Drulene's farm to report having looked in vain, but I wanted to see her again. I used my boots to ascend the highest peak in the area, and was rewarded with a most confusing vista.

On the far side of the peak, nestled against the lower slope, stood the familiar arch of an ancestral tomb. In my early days in Morrowind I pillaged such tombs haphazardly, and recently I very purposefully took a skull of a revered ancestor from another, but I would never contemplate the desecration I found today. Outside the tomb grazed two tethered guar, in an area well cropped by their feeding. I could only assume the bandits were inside, and had been for quite some time.

I slid down the slope and entered the tomb. It was typical of such places, a long stair descended to a door, which opened into a long entry chamber lined with blocky stone altars. On the altars stood the familiar burial urns, which I knew would contain the remains of honored family members. The doors had been left carelessly ajar, and I dispatched a rat who had found its way into the hallowed interior. At the far end of the entry hall another door stood, and I crept forward through the chattering wails of the disturbed spirits.

Beyond the door was a chapel. One of the Dunmer's many revered texts lay at the base of a lectern, pulled down by yet another monstrous rat. I destroyed the vermin with my spear, but my anger was building at the thoughtless bandits who I was sure were sheltering here. As my anger grew the spirits seemed to subside, perhaps sensing that swift justice was about to befall those who defiled this place. I crossed the chapel and swung open the door to the inner crypt.

The bandits had constructed cots on the raised altar, and were roasting meat on spits over a fire built in the sacred fire pit. Sizzling grease spattered into the age old ashes of a Dunmer family. My stomach heaved. The wood elves dropped their half cooked lunches and sprang to the attack. I was enraged. I now have a clear understanding of the berserker attacks of the Nords. I could not say how they got there, but the two bandits lay dead at my feet. I leaned on my spear, panting heavily, bleeding from minor wounds. The spirits chatter, so ominous to my ears on all my previous excursions into these depths, now soothed the fire in my heart.

I did not know how to set the tomb right. I piled the bandits belongings in the entry, along with their corpses. Hopefully the family will find them and be appeased. I led the guar back here. Drulene's initial outburst crashed when she saw my wounds, which I had done little to attend to. She treated them tenderly, and listened quietly as I told the tale. In the end I could only look into those red eyes and moan out an apology, a wrenching lament for what other outlanders had done, and no doubt would continue to do. In her beautiful face I could see the heart of the Dunmer people.

_**Day Forty-two: Questions or peace?**_

In prison I wrote every day. I spread myself across paper, where I could my father hanged himself in a cell down the hall I spread out my torment, and I survived. I wrote every day, filling the empty void of days. Now mostly I write at night as my days are full. Perhaps, sometimes, I write just from habit, but I find I cannot sleep otherwise. Often it seems just a recap of a days events, offering me little glimpse into myself. Today must be different, and I write here in the broad daylight, perched on a fence, soothed by the satisfied grunting of the guar herd. Drulene has gone to her neighbor to return the guar. I look to my journal in search of myself.

The legend of the Nerevarine haunts me. My sleep was disturbed by a dream. My thoughts linger on the desecrated tomb. The swirl of Morrowind politics threatens to engulf me. I do not know where to turn, or who to trust.

The Tribunal Temple reveres the memory of Nerevar. Their greatest general; a contemporary of the immortal living gods who reign supreme in the ancestral pantheon of the Dunmer; the Tribunal. Nerevar, who in a way seems to have been even greater than the three who survive, was lost, but not forgotten. Would the Tribunal welcome their lost brother's return if the prophecy were fulfilled? They persecute the Nerevarene cult, and put down the prophecy. Do they know it false? Or fear it true?

And the Empire; where would they stand really? The Dunmer whisper that only Nerevar has ever truly united them, and wait for the Nerevarine to do so once more. The Empire uses the splits and tensions among the Temple and the ruling houses to keep Morrowind under thrall. But the Emperor knows this province has never been truly conquered. Morrowind squirms under the Imperial heel, perhaps dangerous in its unrest. A false Nerevarine would serve them well. They may intend to create a Nerevarene, and they may be using me as the raw material. Am I the only one, or like Sharn sending me for the skull, am I just the latest one?

What if they succeed? Could I deliver the Dunmer, falsely united, to some final break in their resistance? How would I bear my own reflection if I falsly led these proud people into Imperial ways, leaving their tombs to the bandits and their hearts to the cliff racers?

Imperial rule brings peace and prosperity; a rule of law, and comfort. But in the wake of that law ride the lawless, the bandits and freebooters pulled along to the edge of the civilization. Under the weight of invading law the pride of a nation twists into the bigoted hatred of the Cammona Tong. In Vvardenfell, the land itself seems to resist, and Red Mountain may roar its protest. The Dwemer could not stand against it, what chance the Empire?

I was born on the day, to the uncertain parents. Could I actually be the Nerevarine? Me, a Breton of High rock? But if I couldn't be the Nerevarine the Empire wouldn't consider trying to pass me off as the Nerevarine. I am spread on the paper of this journal, spread thin, but I still don't see.

Later. Even with my journal sated for the day, I cannot sleep without writing. I spent the day laughing with Drulene, hearding the guar, tending the plants. The work was hard, and early sleep should come easily. To be the Nerevarine must I have the heart of a Dunmer, or merely hold one dear?

_**Day Forty-three: Out of the shack and into the fire**_

I am settled in at the guild hall in Ald-ruhn, having spent the day moving once more. Clearing all my possessions out of the shack was bittersweet, but after recent events I am less inclined to a hermit's existence. It seems nowhere is remote enough to avoid the Dark Brotherhood. I will have to safeguard my survival with movement, not isolation. With that in mind I have begun the process of separating my various shops and equipments.

Here in Ald-ruhn I established my library. I have accumulated quite a few books in my travels, and today purchased a few more. In a booksellers shop in Balmora I found the rare volume Edwinna wanted, Chronicles of Nehuleft. I also picked up my own copies of History of the Empire, and a book on the Dark Brotherhood. This historical perspective has kept me in my chamber since dinner, for it seems a familiarity with my enemies could only help me. No startling revelations leapt forth however.

The dinner table here is quite different from meals in the Balmora guild hall. The focus on scholarship is very much in evidence. Anarenen it seems can be counted on at any meal to hold forth on some aspect of alchemy until literally told that everyone has heard enough. I will probably learn more over dinners than I would have with all my experimentation. Edwinna is more of a quiet watcher, but I did get her animated attention by mentioning my trip to Arkngthand. I think it will not be long before we are having a very frank conversation about Dwemer artifacts and Imperial law. My supply of Dwemer artifacts I left stored in my cave, close enough for accessing the trader in Pelagiad. I am sure I have far more than he can afford, but if I take all I can carry every time I visit the town it should make a profitable sideline.

A profitable sideline with the added benefit of visiting Ahnassi. Despite the alluring Drulene Falen and the peaceful idyll of her farm I have not been able to get the lovely Khajiit out of my mind. The secret of my cave must be protected though, so I dare not visit Pelagiad yet. There is a spell which I have seen on scrolls that will allow me to transport myself from the cave directly to the Imperial Shrine at the Pelagiad fort. I can load my pack with artifacts and use that spell, so no one will ever see me enter or leave the cave. Problem being that I do not know that spell, and presently do not have any scrolls to use either. I will check the supply chest tomorrow.

A knock on my door interrupted my writing. Ajira come to tell me that Hasphat Antabolis has been to the guild looking for me. I trust the master at arms of the Balmora Fighter's Guild well enough. But how many people know to look for me at the Mage's Guild. And how safe is Ajira, if she becomes known as someone who knows how to find me?

_**Day Forty-four: The political cauldron of Caldera**_

My loyalties are plagued by conflict tonight. The Emperor did not release me out of a newfound vein of good will. I am sure I am being manipulated somehow, used as a pawn in a game to bring the province of Morrowind further to heel. It is in my nature to rebel; disappear and let the Empire sort its problems out on someone else's back. But everywhere I turn the Empire shows more good than bad, and the firm loyalty of my fellow Blades operatives seems to be seeping into me. Tonight I sleep as a guest of Surane Leoriane, a fellow Breton and a member of the Blades.

She is a tremendously skilled mage, and an exceptional trainer. In our home province of High Rock she could be living a life of ease and comfort. Among the Redguards, mighty warriors but hardly skilled in the arts of magic, her healing skills alone would give her luxury like a queen. She has spurned all that to come to the backwater of the Empire, Vvardenfell, where she watches the operation of a mining company. She watches for corruption. I see it as corruption that the Emperor can just declare all the ebony in the nearby mines to be imperial property, then give out mining rights as reward, or whim. This town of Caldera, placid on the surface, boils with unknown intrigue just below.

First question on everyone's mind is how House Hlaalu ended up administering the mines in the first place. When Vvardenfell was opened to settlement the Tribunal Temple lost what had been total control of the island, but only relatively small districts were given to the houses Hlaalu, Redoran, and Telvanni. This rich ebony mine would seem to have remained under Temple control. Mining being a secular activity there could be an argument made for bringing in one of the great houses, but given the existing districts that should have been the Redorans. Surane does not want to look at it, since it is outside the scope of her investigations, but some sort of high level graft brought the Hlaalus here in the first place. Now the imperial accountants are in a stew, thinking the Hlaalus are skimming away the profits. What did they expect when they took the Hlaalu's bribes? Now Surane is tasked with stopping the current graft, but encouraged by her own loyalty to not accidentally stir up something she doesn't want to know out of the past.

To me the real quagmire is the question of slavery. In submitting to imperial rule without actually being conquered the Dunmer held the right to their ancient traditions, and slavery is allowed in Morrowind under imperial law. But the slaves are mostly Khajiit and Argonians; imperial citizens. They don't just spring out of the ground, at some point they are captured, obviously illegally, but once in Morrowind they are bound by law. The Empire won't stop the slave trade since their own ebony mines require the slaves to operate. At the same time the Dunmer are furious that escaped slaves that successfully get out of Morrowind cannot be legally recovered, leaving the lawful slaveholders at the mercy of underground organizations who spirit slaves away to their homeland. It is a tangled web.

Just as tangled in my own head. No matter how the profits generated on the backs of slaves get divided, it will never seem fair to me anyway. The seizure and distribution of mining rights started out corrupt, what purpose is served by cleaning it up partway now? But Surane is so clear, so focused. Since I have no idea which way to turn I am left to turn her way by default. Which brings me once again to serving the Empire, for good or ill. I'm afraid it will always be some of both.

I walked from Ald-ruhn, thinking I would have time to think, sort out my loyalties. Perhaps I did, but once again the destination created more questions than the journey answered. Fortunately I can walk on tomorrow for Balmora, leaving the problems of Caldera in Surane's capable hands.

_**Day Forty-five: Things we do for love**_

I made a quick dash this morning to Balmora to check in with Hasphat. He has solved the riddles of his puzzle box. He made a key that he thinks will fit a door somewhere in Arkngthand. He was quite proud of himself, and I was also much impressed by his ingenuity. I was honored and surprised when he gave me the key. The right thing to do would probably have been staying in Balmora and having lunch with him, but I felt pressed for time, although I was trying not to admit to myself why I was anxious. I told myself that I had left quite a treasure in the cave near Pelagiad. I told myself that I was focused on the business to transact with Mebastian Ence. I told myself everything but that I was looking forward to seeing Ahnassi. Then I ran into a stunning display of what love can do to people.

I thanked Hasphat for the key and promised him that any unique artifacts I found when I returned to Arkngthand I would share with him, then used my recall spell to return to the cave. All seemed well, my treasures undisturbed. I opened the door to let some fresh air clear the mustiness that had set in, and my sense of well being evaporated. Not far away, along the main road, a swirl of smoke rose curling into the air. Someone had a campfire burning; probably cooking their lunch. I crept out of the cave and into the underbrush, curving away from the unknown campsite.

When I reached the main road I headed north, maintaining the air of a nonchalant traveler. When the campsite came into view I was surprised to see a lone Breton woman; quite a beautiful woman in fact. When she saw me approaching she hurried to meet me, fairly shouting down the road to ask if I had seen a bandit lurking about. Completely misunderstanding her I began to pledge myself to her defense, thinking this would restore some calm. She would have none of that. She was not fearing robbery, in fact she had already been robbed. She was waiting, in hopes for the robber's return. Somehow in the course of having her jewelry stolen she had become quite smitten with the rogue. I shook my head in amazement. Then she mentioned the name; Nelos. If only I had been prepared to keep my features better composed.

She saw the flash of recognition and sprang at me, eyes blazing into my own. "You know him!" she cried. "You must tell him I wait for him. You must!" She removed one of her intricately embroidered gloves and pressed it into my hand. "You must deliver this token to him!" I wanted to point out that he already had her jewels, and one would think that was token enough, but I could not bring myself to break such a fair maiden's heart. I took the glove and continued to the north until I was safely out of sight, then ducked into the bushes and transported back to my cave. I had not the least expectation that Nelos Onmar would be interested in Maurrie Aurmine's glove, and wondered how I could go back and tell her in a way that would be least painful. I also considered selling the glove and joining Nelos in disappearing from her life forever so as not to have to face her with any bad news.

I set up my armory there in the cave and put a fine new point to my spear, restrung my bow, and polished up my bonemold armor. Then I loaded a pack with as much Dwemer material as I could unobtrusively carry and used the intervention scroll that put me at the nearest Imperial Shrine; in this case right in the courtyard of the fort at Pelagiad. There was a secret thrill in appearing there laden with contraband artifacts, but the guards had no reason to suspect and treated me with nothing but respect as I made my way out into the village. The trader Ence had already had lunch, but agreed to join me for a drink at the Halfway Tavern. We left his guard to watch his shop and crossed the street to conduct our business away from that worthy. The guard is provided by the Imperial Legion; it would not sit well to deal in Dwemer artifacts right under his nose.

The Halfway was quiet, and Drelasa Ramothran provided me a wonderful meal. She also came to our rescue when Ence and I reached an impasse in our negotiations. It turned out that I had brought too much; more than Ence could afford to pay a fair price for with the gold he had available. I thought he was just being obstinate, and was slowly losing patience with my fellow Breton. As could be expected, the more agitated we became the more formal and stilted our conversation, until we were both so stuffy that we could hardly understand each other. Drelasa stepped in with the kind of smooth light tone that only a master of the publican's trade can produce, and like magic our good will was restored. In the sudden eye in the hurricane of rhetoric I could see the problem clearly, as could Ence, and we worked out a deal that favored both of us and Drelasa as well.

Ence gave her a very good deal on a large stock of liquor, which gave him sufficient gold to take all my artifacts at a bargain, but fair, price. For my part I promised Drelasa to spend a quantity of my newly acquired gold raising good sport in her tavern, to help reduce the sudden excess in her inventory. The deal struck, I followed Ence back to his shop and enlisted the assistance of his guard to carry the liquor back to Drelasa. Ence took the opportunity to stash his new artifacts, and the guard got word that the Halfway Tavern would be the place to be this evening. Things were really starting to shape up for a wild time. Then in walked Nelos.

Drelasa immediately accosted him about providing entertainment, and he agreed to play his lute in return for a reasonable tab at the bar. Then I approached him, holding the glove. He looked at it curiously, then raised his laughing red eyes and cocked an eyebrow. "What's this, Breton? Has some damsel given you a glove and you seek my advice? I am a bit of an expert, and would gladly help you, but I am a bit parched..." Ever the rogue. He had just settled for free drinks for the evening, but had to maneuver for more.

"Actually Nelos, the damsel sent the glove for you, not me. I too would gladly offer advice, on such matters as where to find her for instance, but like you I am a bit parched, and unlike you I don't have an open tab." I slid onto a seat beside the raffish Dunmer and grinned.

Drelasa set down two tankards and laughed. "These first lot are on the house, no ones tab but mine," she sang. "Nelos, you may have met your match in Arvil Bren. Watch your step, you two might talk each other into serious trouble before the night is through." We could not help but join her merry laughter as she sauntered away.

We raised our glasses and I came out with the story of Maurrie's glove as concisely as I could. To my surprise the rogue seemed touched immediately upon hearing her name, and positively moved as I continued to tell him how she had demanded I find him. I have seen my father lie with utter conviction, and express the complete range of emotions without feeling a twitch. I know a fake. Nelos was not faking. He had genuinely fallen for the girl. Again I shook my head in disbelief. He called to Drelasa for a quill, ink, and paper.

"You must take her this note Arvil Bren, I cannot go for I have promised to play," he said with his voice cracking with emotion. I calculated; he could get back in time, if he hurried, but he probably would not come back if he went to the girl. I took the note.

When she saw me coming down the road at a trot Maurrie leapt to her feet. "Did you find him?" she cried. When I told her that I had she threw her arms around me, and I struggled to bring his note out of my pouch. She read it rapidly, then again slowly, small moaning sighs breathing from her lips. I have never seen two people so in love. "He could not come because he is playing music at a tavern?" she asked. Then continued before I could answer, "How far is it? Will you take me there?" She abandoned her camp, and we rushed back to Pelagiad.

As we walked Maurrie chattered about a friend of hers that she thought I should meet. Having found her love she wanted the same for me I suppose. I'm sure her friend in distant Tel Aruhn is a charming and beautiful woman, but the heady atmosphere of being the go between for this surprising couple was overpowering me, and I could barely hear her for thinking of my tiger Ahnassi. We are so unlike, but there is something about her. When we arrived at the Halfway Tavern Maurrie leapt into Nelos' arms and I thought she was oblivious to me. Being new friends Ahnassi and I did not greet each other quite so flamboyantly, but apparently something was obvious. Maurrie caught my ear and whispered "I see you won't be visiting Emusette any time soon Arvil Bren." She smiled a dazzling smile at Ahnassi and swept back to Nelos.

I had spent my day running errands for love; the love of others. This evening love made a direct demand of me. As we danced Ahnassi drifted back and forth from bright happiness to a strange melancholy that she would pass off when I mentioned it. Finally I sat her down and pressed through her reluctance to find out the problem. She came out with the answer and tears welled in her eyes. "I must leave Vvardenfell," she said. I was stunned.

"Why?" was all I could manage to stammer. Suddenly how much I cared for this exotic beauty was crystal clear. As she explained my blood roared in my ears, and the edges of my vision narrowed until all I could see was her face. Ahnassi is Thieve's Guild, and the Cammona Tong is threatening her. Her oaths as a monk prevent her from acting, other than in her immediate defense. She sees no alternative but to leave. "Who has threatened you?" I grated through clenched teeth.

"His name is Daren Adryn, friend Arvil Bren, but I cannot ask you to take his life..." she started, but stopped when she saw my face. At mention of the name my temper scaled a new height. Daren Adryn was the Tong boss in Gnaar Mok. He was responsible for selling me out to the Dark Brotherhood when they came looking for me. He had cost me my home. Now he would cost Ahnassi hers. My seething blood crystalized, like bitter ice.

"You have not asked, my beautiful tiger. Your oath is intact. Now here is mine. You need not fear this man. You need not fear his minions. The Cammona Tong of the Bitter Coast may still walk, briefly, but they are dead men."

_**Day Forty-six: In the cave of the Sixth House**_

I look at myself tonight and wonder, what has Vvardenfell made of me? I have a room at the South Wall for the night. Bacola Closcius, the proprietor, raised an eyebrow at my bloodied clothes, but asked no questions. Since his establishment is the base for the local Theive's Guild I expected none from him. The local authorities were less complacent.

I had already had a harrowing morning when I arrived in Balmora. While mapping the coast for Nine-Toes I located a number of caves that I suspected were in use by smugglers. What smugglers serve the Cammona Tong, and who does not? I have no way to know without checking for myself. In my rage I knew no fear of these self styled guardians of Dunmer purity. This morning I found that the caves of the Bitter Coast can harbor things far more frightening, and deadly. I set out from Pelagiad, headed for a cave on a small island southeast of Seyda Neen.

I crept into the cave warily. Smugglers can be expected to post guards. I found none. The interior passage was well lighted, groups of red candles burned on many rocks and ledges, casting a flickering glow. The floor showed the passage of many feet. Bare feet. A strange odor wafted through the passages, a putrid scent of decayed flesh. This was no smuggler's hide out. Not far inside the cave I came upon a man, kneeling, gnawing at a chunk of bleeding meat. I watched in horror. The man wore only ragged pants. His sides were scored with bulbous scars; wounds badly healed. Along his lower ribs blood oozed from a fresh jagged wound. It was healing rapidly, flesh forming as I watched. The wound, the meat; I gagged on the realization. He was eating his own flesh.

The sounds of choking down bile roused the monster from its grisly repast and it lurched to its feet. Still spitting and gasping for air I staggered backwards. The monster came at me with a lumbering gait, arms outstretched. No intellect graced its eyes, only hatred burned in those vacant orbs. In horrified shock I struggled to free my bow, then gave up and fled towards the daylight. At the entrance to the cave I turned. With distance some sense of calm returned. The creature shambled up the slope of the long straight passage to the surface. I could see that what had been a gaping wound in its side was almost completely healed and I abandoned the idea of killing it by conventional means. Forming my hands in the requisite curve, with thumbs linked together, I cast the spell. Magical flames erupted, forming a ball which I launched with a push. The cleansing magical fire scoured the monster, and it stopped its advance briefly. Skin curled and fell in blackened rolls that shattered on the stony floor, and fluids steamed from the staggered monster's oozing flesh, but it resumed its course. I repeated the spell, and the monster collapsed. The stench of burning flesh overcame me, and I could no longer choke down my rising gorge.

When I had recovered I gave serious thought to just turning and leaving. If the Cammona Tong had ever been there, they weren't now. I couldn't though. Bits of rumor and Caius' questions were starting to fit together, and I slowly realized that I was standing in a den of the Sixth House Cult. How the self devouring horror related to the ancient House Dagoth I had no idea, but I had to make at least some effort at investigation. I readied my bow and willed my feet to carry me back into the depths of the cave.

When I reached the spot where I had encountered the monster, clearly marked by the lump of meat abandoned on the stone floor, I faced a choice. I cast a wary glance down a side passage, and went straight ahead down the slope. I did not get far. The way was blocked by a deep crevice. On the far side a ledge fronted a closed door set into the wall. I returned to the side passage and turned to follow its narrow twisting course. The passage eventually widened, forming a natural chamber in the grey native stone. Across the chamber the passage continued, and another small cave opened on the wall high above with a rockfall providing a chance to scramble up. At the bottom of the fall lay a Dunmer corpse. Intricately decorated bonemold boots still graced its feet, and a matching shield, badly abused, lay discarded nearby. Much of the meat had been torn from the body.

Further examination of the body was stopped by the entrance of another horrible mockery of a man. This time there were no bulging scars, and he moved gracefully as he leapt into a defensive crouch and began weaving a spell. He was no longer human though, if indeed he ever had been. It was grey. Not a grey like a skin of some different hue. The brown skin of a Redguard, the bluish skin of a Dunmer, they are still skin. This man was grey, a powdery grey, as if he was made of ash; even his eyes. The creature muttered incantations, and a ball of sparks sailed towards me. I gulped a potion Ajira had made for me, and a barrier of my own magical electricity erupted around me. The two charges intermingled, popping and flashing, but the barrier held, and I returned fire with my own spell. The flames did not burn the creature visibly, it seemed already charred to an ashen waste, but it did weaken and grow more emaciated as the magica chorused around it. Volley after volley surged between us, and I would surely have been reduced to a smoking ruin without my shielding. The monster fared less well. Repeated immersion in the searing flames completely dessicated it, and it fell into an ashy cloud that settled rapidly to the floor.

I climbed up the rockfall and found another corpse, in similar condition to the first. I took their boots, and intricately woven belts. The belts seem to bear some sort of insignia, and I suspect will be identifiable to someone better versed in the politics of Morrowind than I. I teleported to my storage cave. I could face no more of the Sixth House Cult today.

I spent much of the afternoon repairing the battered shield. The workmanship is exceptional, on the shield and the boots. When I departed my cave I regretfully left my levitating boots behind. These boots are far too comfortable, and give so much better protection, that I had to wear them. After visiting Wyan the armorer though I am not sure. He bought the extra pair for an excellent price, but informed me that they are a product of House Indoril, a great house that is not represented on Vvardenfell. Here on the island they are worn almost exclusively by Tribunal Temple ordinators. The belts verified that, indeed, the bodies I had found were ordinators. I described the creature, which Wyan identified as an ash slave, and he commended me for my good sense in deserting the cave. In his view whatever had killed the two ordinators had to be significantly more dangerous that that. I'm glad I departed without facing it.

When I left the Fighter's Guild hall I went to the Council Club. I hoped to gather information from the bartender there about the Tong. It is my actions there that concern me. I complain about Ranis sending me on missions of thuggery for the guild. I condemn the Tong out of hand. But what of me? As I approached, two Dunmer emerged, carrying their drinks to the rooftop tables. I have seen them around Balmora. Certainly they sympathize with the Tong, but I doubt they posed any active threat to Ahnassi. I slaughtered them like pigs. It is more good fortune than good planning that leaves me a free man.

When the authorities arrived I stood dripping blood, my two antagonists sprawled at my feet. Their weapons, which had availed them little against my bloodlust, lay scattered about them. Two things saved me from prison. A caravaner, from his vantage point atop the strider port, reported a clear view of events. What he saw was two Dunmer springing to the attack. He couldn't hear me hissing to them that I had slain the Tong's leaders and had returned for them. His report was the first thing. The second, I think, was some behind the scenes effort by Caius. I saw Caius' courier, Rithleen, come and go in the crowd which had gathered, and not long after a higher ranking member of the Hluulu guards arrived and I was turned loose. Afterwards Nine-Toes hissed in my ear; "Best not to see Caius today, apprentice. Better to get out of town for a while" I was startled by the disembodied voice, but managed not to draw attention to the invisible Argonian.

In the morning I will take his advice. I leave before dawn, for Hla Oad.

_**Day Forty-seven: Pirate**_

Now I am a pirate. Unfortunately, other than sleeping on it I have no idea what to do with this ship. I cannot sail her by myself. I know nothing about sailing anyway. She is fully laden with a cargo of illegal ebony, and I would hate to abandon her. Perhaps by morning I will have an idea.

I found the Grytewake at a dock near the mouth of the Odai by following her Nord crew. Their treks through the marsh from a nearby cave were marked by alternating disgruntled complaining with gleeful proclamations of wealth. They made many trips. I hid among the trees and marsh grasses. I would have been happy to leave these smugglers to their work, but I wanted to find out who they were working with. When I saw a group of Dunmer emerge from the cave I listened closely, and confirmed my suspicions. I allowed the Dunmer to pass, although the thousands of gold pieces they carried were bound for Orvas Dren, kingpin of the Cammona Tong. The couriers are not local operatives, no threat to Ahnassi, and no concern of mine.

I even considered waiting for the ship to sail. These Nords do not concern me either. I chose not to for a number of reasons; hundreds of pounds of reasons actually. Ebony. I wanted to find out, if I could, where the Cammona Tong came up with such a shipment of ebony. I owed it to my fellow Blade, Surane Leoriane, to see if this shipment has a link to the Caldera Mines. Searching through the ship's papers has revealed nothing. All I can do is take her the names Thervam Drelas and Ralos Othrenium. Those two were the Tong members left with the Nords. Left to die.

I have nine more deaths on my conscience, but they do not weigh heavily. Smugglers, battle hardened; they chose their lot. For the Nords especially there was likely no better end they would have chosen than to die in battle, though perhaps not this battle. This one they might call unfair. I watched them as they trudged through the swamps lading their cargo. I waited in the darkness near the cave mouth when sunset stopped their efforts; waited listening to the revelry within. I watched as many of the crew staggered drunkenly to their ship. Then I struck.

The first officer was still in the cave, completing the transaction with the Dunmer or just too drunk to return to the ship. Drelas and his Redguard lackey fell defending the door, Othrenium and the Nord officer deep within. There is still loot in the cave, to be sifted from the refuse of the evening's festivities. Given the number of empty bottles killing them may have done them a favor; they would have been miserable in the morning. Those on the ship were easier prey, most having fallen into drunken slumber.

I would guess there are close to three hundred pounds of ebony on board, plus provisions for a long journey. I will have to leave the ship, obviously. I could transport the valuable cargo to my cave, but that would set me further back in my march on Hla Oad. I will decide with the dawn.

_**Day Forty-Eight: The slave traders**_

I am taking my bed tonight in the master's cabin aboard Grytewake; a fine jest. We will sail on the pre-dawn tide, and I will be a hand with the sails; a barely able hand. Wadarkhu's crew is short for manning a deep water vessel like Grytewake, and I will have to be made useful.

When I awoke this morning my mind immediately sprang to Wardarkhu as the answer to the question of what to do with this ship. I raced into Hla Oad and located Pallia Ceno. Pallia was the only person in Hla Oad who was even remotely civil during my last visit. She is an initiate in the Imperial Cult. While the Empire allows and encourages religious freedom in all of its provinces it does actively support the official beliefs of native Cyrodiil. Throughout the Empire order is maintained by the Imperial Legions, and civilization is maintained by the Imperial Cult. Pallia represents the cult here in the backwaters of the Bitter Coast. I admire her courage, particularly considering the strong influence of the Cammona Tong in Hla Oad. While she would like me to take the oath and join the Cult as a lay member, she is willing to help me out as my friend. A generous donation to her cause helped. I put her aboard the Harpy, bound for Gnaar Mok.

The Cammona Tong operates freely and openly in Hla Oad. I spent the rest of the morning sorting the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. There are some honest fishermen, drawing their living from the sea and swamps, and Perien Aurelie the pawnbroker treated me fairly enough, but otherwise the town is run by the Tong. There was not much wheat to be found. I was taken aback by how pervasive the Tong is here, and briefly doubted my commitment to their elimination. Many members of the Tong claim they are just a society of businessmen, and I wonder how the business of Hla Oad would get done without them. There is not much business to do, but would Perien be able to take it all in the absence of the trader Tresteve? Dalam Gavyn is the only smith. Would another take his place if the Tong's influence were broken? My doubts were removed when I met Relem Arinith. A perfect example of the 'businessmen' of the Cammona Tong. I can hardly wait for his blood to darken my spear.

When I first laid eyes on Arinith he held a cruel leather lead in his hand. Bound by the lead was a Khajiit. Her fur was matted, and her eyes dulled by misery. My stomach turned at the thought that my dear Ahnassi could be subject to such a fate if the Cammona Tong's bigoted views were allowed to flourish. We were in the caverns beneath Fat-legs Drop Off, Tresteve's trading establishment, and surrounded by Cammona Tong and other witnesses. My hands itched, but I kept my spear in its sling. Cunning and diplomacy; I would buy the slave, whose name was Rabinna, and reclaim my gold from Arinith's corpse later. He would not sell.

"You could not afford her outlander," he said. "She does not look like much, but she has a great inner worth." He barked a short evil laugh, and was joined by the rest of the toughs gathered nearby. I did not get the joke. If I had understood the grotesque reference I would have gutted them all on the spot, despite all consequence. Arinith continued; "You may be able to buy her from Vorar Helas outlander. She is payment of a debt I owe him." He gave the lead a vicious yank. If you want her so badly, deliver her to him in Balmora, and perhaps he will sell." I recognized the name. Vorar Helas was a neighbor of Caius; a sneering, ill-tempered fellow. Hearing his name in this context marked him unsurprisingly as Cammona Tong. I knew Wadarkhu would not arrive before dark. I took the job.

Rabinna followed, docile and subdued, as I sped for Balmora. She expressed no complaint at the fast pace I set. She showed no curiosity when I turned off the road and approached the city over the hills east of the river. I used a pass that I had noted because it provided direct access to Caius' house. We descended unobserved to the roof of Helas' house, and slipped in through an upper balcony. Before Helas could raise an outcry, I showed him the cowering slave I had brought.

"Good work outlander," he hissed. "Using you is a master stroke. Relem is even more clever than I thought."

"Too clever by half," I said. "I'll be taking Rabinna with me. He would not sell her, and I promised to deliver her to you, to give you one chance to sell her."

"She is worthless outlander, a cat with a veneer of civilization. But she is a fine shipping container, and after I slit her belly open you can have her for nothing. Disposing of the corpse is always a task I'd rather avoid anyway." With that the vile smuggler cast a paralyzation spell on me and advanced on Rabinna, drawing a wicked dagger.

The small vial of protective potion in my belt pouch pulsed magica into my frozen body, drawing my hand. My thumb popped the cap as it came to my lips. As the fluid poured in full freedom of movement exploded into my limbs.

Helas and his dagger may have been ideally suited for killing a cowed slave, but they were no match for my spear, or my fury. There may be relative innocents among the Tong, but I will have no remorse for disemboweling Vorar Helas and leaving him to die slowly, clutching his entrails.

I couldn't leave Rabinna in the house with the corpse, but I certainly have no desire for a slave. I brought her back to the ship, and my meeting with Wadarkhu. The wrapping on the moon sugar the smugglers forced her to swallow will break down, and she will face some rough times. Wadarkhu will see her through, and I will meet her again at Gnaar Mok. Before then I will return to Fat-Legs Drop Off. The Cammona Tong there, with their laughs about her 'inner worth', will get a sense of my humor.

_**Day Forty-nine: The fall of Daren Adryn**_

Tonight I can barely hold quill to paper. Drunkenness. Result of celebration, or a search for oblivion? I am a killing machine. Five more lives snuffed out, and more tomorrow. Deservedly so, but why by my hand? What fate has sent me to Vvardenfell as the right hand of death?

This morning was glorious; sailing the open water, clean sea air. Grytewake is a prize that gave even the gruff Wadarkhu a spring in his steps. His command of the ship, the loyalty of his crew, not only to him but to each other, spoke volumes. I helped with the rigging, and worked cheerfully as directed. I was the pirate who delivered the prize, and I was treated well. Still I couldn't help but notice the sideways glances and wary eyes. When we reached deep water the bodies of the former crew and their accomplices were dumped over the side. I did not help with that. I wasn't asked.

We brought the ship in to a secret dock and boarded Wadarkhu's coaster. I was again useful as we transferred the bulk of the provisions to the smaller ship. The cargo of ebony we buried. Neither Wadarkhu or I know a buyer for such a load. We will both be looking. We are agreed that the profit from the cargo is mine, the ship is Wadarkhu's. As we shook on the deal the cynical Khajiit smuggler spoke with morbid humor. "If you find a buyer my good friend Arvil Bren, try not to kill them." Only Wadarkhu was in on the plan for the rest of my activities today, so his low humor was understandable, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh.

The crew sailed for Gnaar Mok. On the smaller ship I was just a passenger. As we rounded the north end of the island I slipped over the side breathing water and swam stealthily ashore. Wadarkhu sailing brazenly to the dock gave me ample opportunity to slip into town. Coming from the north I had to slip past the manor house of Almse Arenim. The small Arenim clan is closely tied with Great House Hlaalu, and Almse is their agent in residence, administering their Bitter Coast holdings. She and her guards obviously have turned a blind eye to the activities of the Tong and there is a certain complicity in that, but House Hlaalu veers with the wind of profits. They are not themselves glaringly evil, and I would rather not put myself directly at odds with them. I was successful today, but the guard posted to Hla Oad may be a problem tomorrow.

I secreted myself near the shack that serves as headquarters for the Tong, and waited. Wadarkhu and the Hluulu guard were in a heated exchange on the dock. There was no contraband in the cargo, which Wadarkhu's crew were unloading and moving into the Druegh-jigger's Rest. The debate was about taxes, on the surface; the undercurrents were powerful, and obvious. Wadarkhu did not acquire the mountain of provisions, clothing, armor, and weapons on a 'trading voyage', as he was stridently claiming, and the guard knew it. Eventually Almse Arenim herself would be down at the dock, taxes would be levied, and the excitement would pass. But first the typical crowd would gather. I counted on that.

Among the early arrivals in the crowd was Nadene Rotheran. She provided the cover for the Tong's shelter. An innocent commoner paying a minimal stipend for her shack, making a meager living fishing and collecting mushrooms; she goes unquestioned about the coming and going of her frequent guests. Unquestioned by the legal authority at least. I didn't question either, I eavesdropped. As she and another woman pulled away from the crowd and headed towards the shack I was delighted to hear "We have to get Daren. Can you believe the Theive's Guild? Sailing up to the dock in broad daylight like regular merchants?" They opened the door on my quarry.

Gulping a potion of invisibility I swept through the door in their wake. Their conversation clearly identified Daren Adryn. From his robes I guessed that he was a mage of some sort. From his rank in the Tong I guessed that would be a dangerous sort. The other toughs and thugs clearly deferred to him. I positioned myself so he was between me and the rest as my potion wore off. He roared in outrage and began casting a spell. He never finished, interrupted by his life blood gushing from his mouth as his lungs collapsed around the spear through his chest. The fall of their master put the rest in a frenzy, but they were also disheartened and rapidly fell before the gleaming point that dripped with his blood. I stood in the carnage gathering my breath.

Breath was all I had time to gather. The sounds of running feet, undoubtedly clad in the bonemold boots of a Hlaalu guard, were bearing down on the door. There may have been a slight swirl of magica lingering in the air when the guard burst in. I wouldn't know. I was reappearing in my cave.

As usual, my journal has served me well. The writing has sobered me somewhat, and given me perspective. It is not my place to question the fate that has brought me here, nor mine to judge the choices made by men such as Daren Adryn. All I can do is complete the task set before me, with steady hand and clear head. Tomorrow, Hla Oad.

_**Day Fifty: Fresh air in Hla Oad**_

It is time for me to move on once again. My presence in Hlaalu territory has become a problem; for them, for me, and for Caius. Ahnassi is certainly safe. It will be a long time before the Cammona Tong recovers their operations on the Bitter Coast, if the Thieve's Guild lets that happen at all.

This morning I woke refreshed, if a bit hung over. The early morning mist hung over Pelagiad, softening the outline of the fortress. The trunks of the great trees stood like pillars, their tops lost in the vaulted grey ceiling of the world. I left early rather than face breakfast at the inn. Preparing in solitude for the tasks of the day. On the shore of Lake Amaya I shot a mudcrab, and used the great shell as a pot to boil the legs.

The morning passed uneventfully. I have grown familiar with the region, and traveled paths seldom trod to arrive unseen at Hla Oad. With the full noonday sun shining down I donned a closed bonemold helm and descended the final hillside. The helm is of Redoran manufacture, and did bring a stare from the Hlaalu guard patrolling the docks. I hoped his curiosity would not drive him to hurriedly investigate as I ducked into Fat Legs Drop-off.

A closed face helmet does not make for a warm welcome, and the trader, Tresteve the Redguard, did not disappoint. His hand fell on a Nordic battle axe as he said "Hail stranger. It would be a courtesy to show yourself." On my previous visit to Hla Oad Tresteve had made it very clear that he would only deal with me at huge profit, he primarily serves the Cammona Tong. We did not part as friends. He was not happy with the helm's visor. When I raised it to reveal myself, and my death's head grin, he was even less happy. I ran my spear through him before he could raise the axe.

I lifted the trap door leading to the cavern and leapt down to the creaking wooden platform below. As my boots thumped wood I roared "For the Thieve's Guild! Honor of the Empire!" The Dunmer woman who served as the Tong's sentinel drew a dagger and charged. Shouts and the sound of running feet echoed through the chamber. I felled her with a whirling swipe of my spear and clattered down the steps.

Had the thugs of the Tong gathered themselves for a rush they would have presented much more of a challenge. It was unfortunate that Arinith was the first to arrive. He deserved a slower death. As it was I was compelled to dispatch him as quickly as possible. When his sword clanged to the stone floor and his hands batted feebly at the shaft of the spear lodged in his neck I gave it a vicious twist that yanked him to his knees. I dislodged him from the point with a boot sole to the face. The last words he heard as he went to his ancestors were "Rabinna has greater worth than you, inner or obvious." The others fell in turn, unremarked.

Perien Aurelie the pawnbroker cowered at the far end of the cavern. As I approached he said "I have no quarrel with your guild."

"I know Perien. And I have no quarrel with you. In fact I am counting on you to maintain the tradehouse. Tresteve is dead, as is every member and sympathizer of the Cammona Tong that has crossed my path. I have sailed the raging gale of death, but now I return to Mournhold. You do business with the Tong I will return for you." I stalked away, hoping the reference to Mournhold would throw some suspicion on the Dark Brotherhood.

I gathered whatever valuables I could find, including yet another cache of armor and weapons, and prepared to transport myself back to my cave. My heart nearly stopped when a familiar hiss erupted in my ear. "Arvil Bren!" My concentration broken, I stuttered the incantation and magica coursed aimlessly around me. Nine-toes emerged from the shadowy recess in which he had secreted himself. "This is indeed a surprise, pleasing or not."

In clipped sentences Nine-toes informed me that Caius, the spymaster of the Blades, had assigned him to find out what was going on in the Bitter Coast. The Cammona Tong's contacts have House Hlaalu in an uproar. There have been rumors that the Empire is somehow responsible, clandestinely intervening in the Tong's war with the Thieve's Guild. "When Caius finds out that there is an accidental truth to that rumor he is not going to be pleased apprentice," my Argonian comrade said. "The Hlaalu guards are on the lookout for spearmen, and they have not forgotten your altercation on the roof at the Council Club. You can't go to Balmora. I will inform Caius and have him meet you at Fort Moonmoth so you can explain yourself."

I had no chance to argue. Nine-toes spun at the sound of the trapdoor banging and disappeared in a flurry of magica. I slammed the visor of my helm shut. The Hlaalu guard saw nothing but a Redoran helm disappearing in the violet swirl of mystic energies as I transported away.

_**Day Fifty-one: Mission to Vivec City**_

Nine-toes had said to meet Caius at noon, so I rose early this morning. The journey to Moonmoth Fort was pleasant enough. In the dawn mists I decided to just accept that what I have done is done. If my assault on the Cammona Tong put a crimp in the Emperor's plan, that would just have to be straightened out. After that was settled in my own head it was just a comfortable hike with a bit of hunting along the way.

Then I met with Caius. He was furious. Not so much about my activities; I had just been out of contact too long. I really had no answer when he said "Damn it all Bren, you had time to come to Balmora and kill my next door neighbor! Would it be too much to expect a check in appearance from you without having to send Nine-toes swimming every swamp in the Empire?"

I was sincerely contrite. There were times when I could have checked in; not when I had Rabinna in tow, but other times. I suppose I was afraid Caius would demand that I drop my pursuit of the Tong. Better to ask forgiveness after than permission before, as they say. Anyway, once he had blown off a little steam, and I had agreed to do better at keeping him informed of my whereabouts, we settled down to discussing what to do next about the Nerevarine prophecies. Despite his concerns, I think Caius approved of my actions in general. He doesn't strike me as someone who would shed a tear for the thugs of the Cammona Tong.

He also was somewhat impressed with the low profile I had maintained given the effectiveness of my blitz. Somewhat impressed, but he had some suggestions that I will have to take into consideration. I am going to have to part with my spear. That will also call for mastering some other weapon. The Hlaalu guards, at the urging of Orvas Dren I am sure, are taking in anyone carrying a spear for questioning. They are courteous, but professional. If they question me it is a fair bet their professionalism would last longer than their courtesy. As Caius pointed out, roaming the city streets with a spear in hand is not the inconspicuous way for a Blades operative to travel anyway.

Talk of roaming city streets brings my next mission to the fore. I am dispatched to Vivec City to make contact with more of Caius' informants. Vivec is the largest city on Vvardenfell, and one of the largest cities in the east. I am eager to see its unique architecture.

My excitement about heading to Vivec buoyed me along on the road back to Pelagiad. It was tempered somewhat as I spent the evening at the Halfway, dancing with Ahnassi. I confess, I would rather stay with her. There is a new complication in our relationship though. It's new to me anyhow.

It seems Ahnassi has a mate; a Khajiit mate who came to Vvardenfell with her. They are long estranged, but there are feelings she has not completely settled, and Khajiit traditions not resolved. While I am in Vivec I must seek out this mate J'Dhannar. He was addicted to skooma, the distilled moon sugar extract, and last seen in the canton of St. Olms. I promised Ahnassi that I would find him, and if possible turn him free of the skooma. How I have no idea, but it seems that this is what is required for her to be free of him.

_**Day Fifty-two: Arrival in Vivec**_

I arrived at Vivec City around lunch time, and opted for mudcrab on a nearby beach. The first sight of the city was too overwhelming to think of searching out a place to eat. As I ate the succulent crab meat I gazed across the bay to the huge pyramids towering above me. Doubts crept in that have not yet been dispatched. The eight cantons of Vivec would each make up a fair sized town by themselves. Taken altogether they are too much for me to really grasp. I have four people to find in this teeming hive.

I crossed the bridge onto the skirt of the northernmost canton, which I knew to be the foreign quarter. In earlier days delegations from outside the Dunmer nation were not allowed beyond this first canton. I paced the skirting deck all the way around. Long ramps led up from the corners to upper levels. The lower deck offered no access to the interior. The structure would be very difficult to assault. I was thankful for Caius' suggestion that wearing the Indoril boots of a dead Ordinator would not serve me well in Vivec. I activated my levitation boots and avoided the ramps. Even without the dead man's boots the Ordinator who strode rapidly across the deck at my landing did not extend a warm welcome.

"Outlander," he hissed, "if you are looking for trouble you are sure to find it." He took stock of my spear through narrowed eyes. I was grateful that the black chainmail of the Dark Brotherhood was indistinguishable under my robe.

"For cracking crabs," I said, hefting the spear awkwardly. "I wouldn't want to get too close to the nasty creatures. Could you direct me to the Mage's Guild hall? I'm not looking for trouble, I'm just here to visit a friend."

Ordinators wear a helmet that completely hides their face behind a golden unsmiling mask, but I could hear the sneer in his voice as he grudgingly told me that the guild was located in the top tier plaza. Again I opted out of the ramps and lofted myself with my boots. I actually went all the way up to the top of the building; a windowed cupola that allows direct light into the plaza. The views out into the countryside were awesome, but turning to the south and seeing the mighty cantons arrayed across the bay was stupendous. A small moon, captured by the magic of Lord Vivec, hangs above his palace at the far end of the city. There is no vista like that anywhere else. I dropped down off the roof and entered the plaza. The familiar sign of the Mage's Guild hanging above a door was a welcome sight. I pushed through the bustling crowd and went inside.

I presented myself to the Archmage, Trebonius, and made the rounds of the guild hall introducing myself. I felt like a hick from the backwoods, but I think acquitted myself with sufficient dignity. The hall of the Archmage certainly put the intrigues of the Balmora guild hall into perspective. The tensions and undercurrents swirl almost visibly, and I don't think Trebonius handles it with the amused detachment of Ranis in Balmora. I think he is right in the thick of it.

After an uncomfortable dinner I excused myself and had the guild guide teleport me to Ald-ruhn. I considered Balmora. I could have bunked in the familiar and friendly confines of the guild hall and never crossed paths with House Hlaalu, but I had work to do in my lab. Tomorrow I will transport back, far better equipped to blend into the city. I have a fine steel shortsword scabbarded unobtrusively from my belt instead of the glowing devil spear to lug about. I am not very skilled with the shortsword, but lurking within it I have placed a daedric spirit. At a brief word of command the spirit will spring into the form of a mighty spear. In my stay here I have picked up a little skill as an enchanter...and a deadly hand with a spear.

Tomorrow I will face the hoards in the city and begin my search.

_**Day Fifty-three: Huleeya of the Morag Tong**_

Today I succeeded in finding the first of the four people I seek. I am less daunted by the task, but a little disappointed in the city and its inhabitants. Perhaps I paint with too wide a brush, or I am just a magnet for trouble.

The social center of the foreign quarter canton is a cornerclub called the Black Shalk. This is where Caius suggested I start my search for Huleeya. I prowled the hallways and open bazaars, establishing myself as something between a merchant and a tourist. There are a great number of alchemists, apothecaries, and healers plying their trades in Vivec. It will be a good outlet for the many specimens I seem to collect in my travels. By lunchtime I had a fair command of the layout of the canton and headed for the Black Shalk.

When I entered the common room I saw Huleeya immediately. I couldn't be sure of course, but the striking Argonian certainly had the bearing of a Morag Tong assassin, and was using it to the fullest. Three thuggish Dunmer had the Argonian backed against the bar, and were trying by any means short of physical assault to start a fight. I thought 'Cammona Tong', and considered having at them on the spot. The Argonian was obviously not in a mood to fight though, and was holding his own, so I went downstairs to calm down. The lower room was quiet at that time of day. I shared a few words with a Dunmer, a bard who is a regular customer and performs at the Black Shalk in the evenings.

"They come in a lot," he said. "They are House Hlaalu retainers. Bigots. If Huleeya leaves they will probably attack out in the halls if they can avoid the Ordinators."

"What would the Ordinators do?" I asked.

"Throw the lot of them in jail probably. House Hlaalu would bail their guys out. It would be a mark against Huleeya with the Morag Tong. Huleeya is a good sort; a regular here, and really sharp; reads all the time."

"I suppose sending them packing to their own canton would be the best thing to do," I said.

"You are asking for trouble," was the bard's candid response. I went back upstairs.

I ordered a drink at the bar, and added "get something for my Argonian friend as well."

"What, are you some kind of lizard lover?" came the sneering voice behind me.

"No, just a bigot hater actually," I said, "and a businessman."

"House Hlaalu runs business in Morrowind outlander. You better watch your step." The three of them had shifted their attention almost completely to me. I leaned casually on the bar, but I was tense. Gutting these fools would be little problem, but conjuring a spear in the local eatery and killing half the lunch crowd would draw a lot of attention.

"House Hlaalu isn't in the business that I'm in," I said.

"What business is that?" The self appointed spokesman for the trio had the look of a nightblade; a magician agent for hire.

"I'm a mystic," I claimed. "I've found a way to channel the mystic energies of a recall spell so I can use it by touch." I peeled the black chain gauntlet from my right hand. "Touching you for example."

"A recall spell? To what end? My companions would kill you before I could recall myself back to my home, but not by much."

"Actually, they might kill me. But it would all be decided long before you got back. The receiving cell you would appear in is permanently silenced, and by the time your new masters let you out you'd be fully drained of any magica. I've taken a lesson from you Dunmer you see. I'm a slaver." It was hard not to let myself look disgusted, but I continued. "No surprise really how valuable you Dunmer are. With your lifespans you can serve for generations."

The spokesman noticed that his two companions had taken half a step back and away from him. His eyes narrowed. "I don't think I believe you outlander."

"One way to find out. We'll be heading to the bookstore across the way. If your argument with this Argonian is important enough to you you'll have your chance to continue it...or you'll meet a lot more Argonians in Black Marsh." I looked at Huleeya. "Come on my friend, I might have a job for you." We headed towards the door. If they had followed I would have killed them in the hall.

"Watch yourself lizard lover," was their final word. Cowards.

When we reached Jobasha's rare book store we were both convulsing with laughter. Huleeya could hardly hiss out the story to the clever Khajiit proprietor, who soon joined us in our mirth. "Well Arvil Bren," he purred, "I normally don't approve of slavers, but you are most welcome here in my shop."

I enjoyed Jobasha's company, and his hospitality. Huleeya and I sat at a desk while he illuminated Dunmer history for me. I took notes.

Tonight I enjoyed dinner with my friends in the guild hall here in Balmora. I could gladly call this home, but staying out of sight is not my nature. Ajira has arranged for Rithleen to come by in the morning to purchase a potion, and deliver my notes to Caius. Until then I will sleep well.

_**Day Fifty-four: The addicts of St Olm's canton**_

When I transported back to Vivec City this morning I set out directly for St. Olms canton. The cantons of St. Olms and St. Delyn are affordable residential areas. Caius said it would be the place to find his friend Addhiranirr. Ahnassi said it was her mate's home also, the last she had heard. Neither of them were likely to want to be found, so I began my inquiries very discretely. The upper plaza of the canton houses a temple, dedicated to St. Olms. I thought this might offer a good place to start.

Vaval Selas, a healer, took my offering and conferred the goodwill of the Tribunal upon me. I told him I was examining the effects of skooma addiction, and had heard that the drug was quite a problem here in the poorer cantons of Vivec. He agreed. He suggested a couple of avenues to explore for first hand information, and a book to read. I returned to the foreign quarter to visit Jobasha, who had a copy of 'Confessions of a Dunmer Skooma Eater'. I found a quiet corner in his shop to read, rather than return to the guild hall. Jobasha gave a customer a discount on their purchase, and they brought us lunch from the Black Shalk. I think it is best for me to stay out of there, at least for a while. The book gave me hope that J'Dhannar could be cured.

Below the main levels of the cantons lie the canalworks, and beneath that the sewers that direct drainage into the surrounding waters. Vaval suggested these lower levels of St. Olms would be the place to look for skooma users, but he asked that I speak to a Dunmer woman named Moroni Uvelas about her husband before I went. I sought her out in the Brewer's and Fishmonger's guild hall. She is a hard working server, and I found her behind the bar. The afternoon is slow, and it gave us a chance to talk.

Moroni's husband Danar is a skooma addict. He frequently disappears for days at a time; as he explains it 'working'. She says he does sometimes come home with gold or other valuables, but just as often he disappears with anything she has put aside. It wasn't hard for me to recognize the description of a smuggler caught in the web of the narcotic he was smuggling. "Where is he now?" I asked gently.

A stifled sob barely broke through. "Gone. Missing again. He came home last week and he was so sick. He said it was the skooma, and he swore he would never touch it again. It seemed different this time though. He was so sick. I'm afraid he might have gotten some horrible disease down there in the sewers. That's where he goes to hide when he has skooma; him and the rest of his friends. They hide down there among the rats like animals, and they don't even think about the risks. I've even heard there's a Daedra Cult that has a shrine down there, and they prey on the weak and sacrifice them to the bad Daedra." Her eyes brimmed over with tears, and my heart broke for this hard working, good woman. I promised to look for her husband, and protect him as well as I could from danger, though what he most needs protection from is himself.

I had no leads on Addhiranirr, but the skooma inquiries were all leading me towards the sewers. My best hope was that Ahnassi's mate J'Dhannar would be able to give me some information about his fellow Khajiit. It wouldn't seem like such a risk asking about an operative of the thieve's guild if I was talking to a skooma addict. I set off into the nether realms of the canton. Then luck played to my side.

As I rounded a turn into the canalworks level I startled a Khajiit. His frantic scrambling, and the dulled hearing that let me startle him in the first place, marked him as being loaded with skooma. I stood very still, and spoke softly, apologizing for startling him. He grew calmer. "I am looking for someone who knows about moon sugar, and skooma," I said. "I found some. I know it's illegal, but I want to see what it does before I destroy it."

His eyes bulged. "Do not destroy it!" He was shaking, shifting his weight rapidly between his paws, and his tail swished in a blurring arc. "I know the skooma well my good friend. I will tell you all you need to know."

"Great!" I said. "What is your name friend Khajiit?"

"J'Dhannar." Pay dirt.

I lead J'Dhannar to the foreign quarter and got us both transported here to Ald-ruhn. I settled him in a spare room and locked the door, then went to Balmora to get some skooma from Ajira. I told him I had skooma, and I don't want that to be a lie, but I hope he chooses not to use it.

_**Day Fifty-five: The sad end of Danar Uvelas**_

I left Movis Darys with J'Dhannar. Movis is an Ashlander, a student, learning to read here at the school in the guild hall. J'Dhannar is a friendly soul, and the two of them worked together with the book. Movis worked on the reading, J'Dhannar worked on the content. He has come to appreciate what we are trying to do. The book has given him hope and direction. The Khajiit are so convinced that there is no cure for skooma addiction that he has never really tried before. I was very happy to find the skooma untouched when I returned this evening; and J'Dhanner asked me to keep it in my room from now on.

Unfortunately there will be no cure for Danar Uvelas. J'Dhannar told me this morning that he knew Danar, but that he had fallen under the sway of the Daedra cultists. The addicts generally tried to avoid the cultists, but occasionally the cult would provide skooma, and Danar had gone off to their shrine. J'Dhannar said that some addicts that had gone to the shrine had never been seen again. Thinking that time could be of the essence I hurried to the guild guide and transported to Vivec City.

I used my boots to fly from the foreign quarter to St. Olms canton. I don't know if Caius would say that's consistent with the low profile of a Blades operative, but it isn't like I'm the only mage floating above the canals. The seemingly endless ramps, down, down, down from the plaza high atop the foreign quarter, then back up again to get into St. Olms, then down again inside to get to the lower levels; I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I went even deeper under the canton today than I did yesterday. The dank sewers are the counterpoint to the resplendent city above. I climbed the ladder cautiously, down into the darkness.

The sound of running water, normally so soothing, grated on my straining senses. I lit on the decking alongside a flowing dirty canal and immediately readied my bow. The high pitched squeaking of rats carried over the deep roar of the water. I peered into the dimness, arrow nocked, fingers pressing lightly on the bowstring. Suddenly a scream of challenge cut through the dank air of the sewer, and a rat, broken and twisted, flew out of a nearby pipeline to splash into the channel. The voice of the scream was vaguely human, but the sound was not. I crept forward to peer into the pipe.

A man, bloated and disfigured with the corprus disease, again roared his challenge. I did not roar back, but whispered the word to free the spirit in my bow, transforming it into a mighty Daedric longbow. My shaft sped true, striking with such force that the creature was knocked sprawling in the shallow water. As it flailed and splashed I advanced, and before it could rise beyond kneeling drove an arrow at close range through its skull. The creature clawed feebly at the slick surface of the pipe, then the slow, steady current tugged it free. What had been a man joined the stream of waste to be dumped from the bowels of the city.

As the hand dragged through the slime a gleam caught my eye. A ring adorned one gnarled finger; the wedding finger. I did not want to touch the diseased creature, but was driven. Could this be Danar Uvelas? I cast what spells I knew to prevent infection and cut the ring free from the massed flesh around it. A wedding band; not expensive, but distinctive enough to be identifiable. I rinsed it in the effluent flow and placed it in a small coin pouch; a pouch I would not miss when I disposed of it soon after.

Moroni Uvelas' eyes flew wide at the sight of the ring. I needed no words from her to know it was indeed her husband's. "Where did you find this?" There was fear in her eyes, but deep within there was some flicker of hope. What cruel fate brought me here, to the far eastern frontiers of the Empire, and left it to me to extinguish that hope?

"Your husband is dead, and I am very sorry," I said. "He died of the corprus disease." I didn't see any need to go into details.

"Corprus. Corprus is supposed to be contained by the ghost fence. Someone was down in the storeroom the other day and saw a rat that they thought was blighted. How are these diseases loose in the city?" She burst into tears, and one of her coworkers came to hold her.

I stood there with the two crying women. I don't know much about the diseases of the blight, but I have a pretty good idea where Danar Uvelas contracted corprus, and I think it was intentional. For the first time I have an interest in seeing the inside of a Daedric shrine.

_**Day Fifty-six: In the shrine of the cult**_

J'Dhannar was surprised to see me return intact this evening. When I told him this morning that I was bent on avenging the skooma addicts of St. Olms he suggested that I stay out of it. He is making progress, but he still questions the worth of his fellow addicts, and himself. That I risked my life this way today may help him see that even skooma addicts deserve to be respected as people. Had I known the danger I would face I might have taken his recommendation.

I returned to the sewers of St. Olms canton with the directions J'Dhannar had reluctantly given me. The entrance to the shrine was not difficult to find, and easily identified by the heavily armored guard posted outside. Obviously a warrior; her plate mail fairly glowed with the care and polish that she had lavished upon it. The well worn pommel of her longsword did glow; with enchantment. I stopped at a respectful distance.

"I am seeking Danar Uvelas. He is a skooma addict and I hear he has joined your cult," I said.

"We allow no sugar heads outlander. Your own head I may have to remove also." Her hand went to her sword, drawing it out slightly. The blade glowed venomously. "How did you find this place? Speak quickly and you may yet live, or at least die painlessly."

"Now that! That is a hard offer to decline, you pompously stuffed tin suit. The only problem with it is that you are far too heavily laden to come close to claiming my head. I will however enjoy sending yours floating downstream with the rest of the dung." I was already running before I finished speaking, and with a word to trigger my boots leapt out over the stinking channel. I lofted across, turned, and landed smoothly. Fifteen feet of murky water separated me from the livid warrior. She raced towards a nearby bridge.

I drew an arrow from a special quiver. A quiver of arrows that I have carried for a month or more, since I found them in a tomb and claimed them from the bony clutches of a skeletal archer. I did not call upon the power of my bow, these arrows do not call for great force. My would be assailant skidded slightly as she turned to race along the deck towards me. She almost laughed as the slim shaft clattered off the heavy steel breastplate. The laugh died as the paralysis magic froze her in mid stride.

Her outstretched sword arm left a gap between the breastplate and shoulder piece of her armor. I found it with my next shot and pain flickered in her immobilized eyes. "This will be a slow death. The same as you would likely have inflicted on me. But not as horrible as what you inflicted on Danar, and who knows how many others." I lofted back across the canal to get an angle, and drove another shaft into the gap above her steel boot, destroying her knee. The paralysis wore off, and she fell. I walked to the bridge and crossed. "You wear no helm, I could end this with a single shot, like a pumpkin on the practice range. Or I could paralyze you again and roll your steel clad carcass into that miasma flowing beside you. Or I could just let you bleed out through those minor wounds you seem to have picked up."

"What do you want outlander?" she grated through teeth clenched in fury. I knew if I stepped one step closer she would lurch at me with the longsword. Even on one leg she would be dangerous.

"What is the source of the disease? Why do you allow this infection in the city?"

"We follow the will of the Daedra. The coming of Dagoth Ur will cleanse this city, and all of Morrowind, and the Daedra will rejoice. The blight is just the beginning outlander. Serve the Daedra, or you will be driven forth with the rest of your kind."

No denial. No remorse. I put an arrow through her head. She deserved worse, but I wanted the armor. It will fetch a good price when Moroni Uvelas sells it. Not enough to make up for the loss of her husband, but something. She was grateful.

When I returned to the shrine there was no indication that they had noticed the loss of their guard. I slipped in the door as quietly as I could, but there was nothing I could do about the water sounds echoing through the sewers. When the door shut behind me and deadened the noise completely I knew that I had been revealed the second I opened the door. If I hadn't guessed the outcry "Intruder! Now you die!" definitely made it obvious. I gulped a potion of invisibility and scuttled for a corner.

The main chamber of the shrine holds a mighty statue of one of the major Daedra, I am not sure which. At its feet is an altar. Its head towers above. I glided through the chamber from pillar to pillar and took stock of my adversaries. A roguish Dunmer woman in netch leather armor and a cruel visaged Dunmer in bonemold waved swords in slow arcs, seeking their invisible prey. At the altar a man, possibly an Imperial of Cyrodiil, stood with cocked crossbow, his back to the statue, eyes darting warily to all corners of his vision. It was hard to choose who would be most dangerous. The Dunmer warrior's sword arm rippled with muscle. The longsword he wielded was of Daedric manufacture. That arm, with that great weight of sword, could drive a stout man to his knees with one overhand chop, even if armor or shield prevented major injury. The bolt in the crossbow of the Cyrodiil flickered with magical flames. The woman's shortsword made of gleaming Dwemer metal oozed with green poison. J'Dhannar's warning echoed loudly in my mind.

I rounded the statue to be out of all sight when the potion wore off, then cast the native shielding spell of a Breton. I drew my shortsword and freed the spirit of the spear that lurks within it. I sprang atop the statue's mighty foot, and lunged down to jab at the crossbowman. I landed too close for him to get good aim, but took a searing wound when his bolt grazed my hip. I crashed my spear across his face in a two handed grip, driving his head into the stone of the statue. Then spun to my right driving the butt of my spear under the charging Dunmer's sword arm and into his ribs. The momentum of his charge and the weight of his sword added to the blow and drove the air from his lungs in a rush. Though neither was seriously hurt, two of my opponents were momentarily incapacitated, and I turned my spear on the third.

The Dwemer metal of her sword slashed through my dark chainmail, and its venom coursed into my veins. I swept my spear head down too late to intercept her thrust, but the razor sharp edge sliced through the netch leather gauntlet, flesh, and bone, severing her wrist. I brought the point back up across her throat as I lurched for the cover of a supporting pillar. A crossbow bolt, hurriedly aimed, smeared fire across the stone inches from my head. I activated my boots and floated up behind the pillar, then around to land on the statue's broad shoulder. As I rose I clutched my healing belt, sending charge after charge of restorative energy to battle the poison wracking my body. As I clung there high above the floor I looked down into the lifeless eyes of the woman. Her companions did not think to look up, searching again for an invisible adversary.

Having completely discharged my belt I downed a powerful restorative potion and dropped to the floor below, cushioned once again by the enchantment of my levitating boots. Before my feet touched the floor I had struck the Dunmer warrior in the middle of his broad back with a paralysis arrow. I began a rapid exchange with the crossbowman. I breathed the command, freeing the Daedric longbow enchanted within my more ordinary weapon. The quickness and accuracy served well against the crossbowman, who could not fire as rapidly, and was limited in his mobility by the process of cocking the crossbow. The mighty Daedric bow allowed my arrows to strike with as much power as his bolts. He fell, with an arrow lodged in his left eye. I had no time to celebrate as my final remaining enemy leapt to the attack.

The great Daedric longsword hissed through the air, the first slice missing by inches as I dove off of the altar, dropping my bow. I grasped the hilt of my shortsword and gave the urgent command as I rolled to my feet. My spear sprang forth into my hands. My conjured spear strikes with similar weight to the Dunmer's mighty sword, but feels feather light in the hands. As we thrust and parried I could see that fatigue would be a factor, even for his massive muscles. The bonemold armor, the heavy sword; eventually they would take their toll. My opponent, for his part, counted on the spell which had obviously conjured my spear to give out, so he did not rush. His mistake. My shortsword has a powerful soul, and even though the spears it summons don't last all that long it has many charges, and can be activated in the thick of the wildest melee.

It was the fourth spear that finally found its way over the flagging shield and punched through the armor of the Dunmer's left shoulder. Not a serious wound, but blood flowed, and the duel continued. The fifth spear again found the mark, deeper still, as the shield was becoming unwieldy on the wounded left arm. This time the point was lodged in the armor and flesh, giving me purchase to hold the distance between us. I was momentarily beyond his reach, and his eyes blazed with fury as he panted for air with sword lowered. Loss of blood and exhaustion had dulled my enemy, while the battle had heightened my Breton awareness. I sensed the instant the spell would expire, and lunged against the spear. The Dunmer lurched, driven back, then was thrown completely off balance as the spear disappeared. My rush brought me crashing against him, neutralizing the powerful swings of his great blade, and my modest shortsword slid under his breastplate to open his belly as we crashed to the floor.

I stripped the corpses of any valuables, weapons, and armor and dragged them out the door. With the guard from outside as a fourth I propped them seated in pairs, back to back. The arrow in the eye, another shot through the head, the severed hand, and the muscular Dunmer with his entrails dragging; they made a gruesome display. I scrawled across the doors in blood "to enter is to die". I doubt the cult will be practicing their dark rituals tonight. I will return in the morning to search the shrine for valuables. The great Daedric longsword is safe in my room. It is far to valuable to have been left behind, even temporarily.

_**Day Fifty-seven: Breaking the bond**_

I returned directly to the Daedric shrine this morning. No one had been inside in my absence. I don't know if the corpses outside the door had been effective as a warning or as bait. I had to battle through a swarm of rats to get to the doors. Once inside I began gathering all the valuables and trade goods together in a room behind the statue, which had served as quarters for the cult's leaders.

The bonemold armor, Dwemer shortsword, and enchanted crossbow bolts were the only real notables among the cult's goods, until I looked in a bowl that had been placed on the altar. Glittering gemstones winked back at me in the torchlight. Diamond, ruby, emerald, pearl; treasure in its most convenient and beautiful form. I dumped the bowl's contents into a pouch. My Breton sense for magic again served me well.

The dremora are servants to the greater Daedra, and apparently this one was tasked with guarding the offerings placed on the altar. He appeared behind me, and without the tingling sense of magic setting me on guard his first swing would likely have crushed my skull. Instead the Daedric club smashed into my shoulder. I fell with the blow to soften the impact and rolled frantically away, taking a sound kick in the belly as I went. The club fell again as I retched up my breakfast. I took the impact on my upraised arm to protect my head, and felt bone crack. Though I could barely speak I managed to summon my spear.

The dremora circled warily, my much longer weapon holding him at bay while I regathered myself from his surprising attack. My left arm blazed with pain as the broken bone grated with every movement, but I kept the wicked point of the spear in front of his feints so that he could not charge in with club swinging. The impasse ended when my spear disappeared, leaving only the shortsword in my hand. The sudden turn of events gave me a split second of surprise to take advantage of. I ran, casting my most powerful healing spell as I went. The dremora was closing rapidly as I crashed out the door and vaulted over the bodies strewn there. Again surprise came to my assistance as the dremora stumbled over the corpses of the dispatched cultists. I activated my spear once again and landed a telling blow in the dark Daedric flesh of its ribcage. The dremora howled its outrage as it was dispatched back to its own plane of existence, leaving only its heart and the heavy Daedric club to mark its brief passage through our world.

Gathering the remaining goods went without incident, and I transported them to my cave. In Pelagiad, over lunch with Mebestian Ence I dealt another load of Dwemer artifacts. His business is booming. After lunch I went to Ahnassi's house. We sat on the stone fence that surrounds the village and watched the netch floating across the blue sky. I told her about J'Dhannar; the progress he was making. I asked if she wanted to go see him. It's funny how quickly it has become natural to me to watch her tail for clues to her mood.

"Good friend Arvil Bren, I no longer want to see J'Dhannar, but we must both agree to break our mating bond. I cannot walk with him any longer, but if he does not free me I must walk always alone, as must he. I wish for him to walk on warm sands, always. I am so very glad you are doing this thing for him. Perhaps without the skooma he will not want to be alone any more, and I will be free." I left her there rather than test her resolve. It was a long walk back to Vivec. I did not hurry.

When I transported back to Ald-ruhn the mages were just breaking up from dinner. Edwinna, the local guild steward, sent for me. It was asking a lot to house J'Dhannar here in the guild hall, and I wondered if there would be a calling to account. There was, but not exactly as I expected. She is once again in search of a rare book, and said that since I am spending so much time flitting back and forth to Vivec I could acquire it for her. I mentioned Jobasha's rare book store, but she said this book was too rare even for him. The Chimarvamidium is so rare that there may be only one copy in existence, and it is in the guild hall in Vivec. She wants me to 'borrow' it for her. Assignments for Edwinna might not be much safer than my assignments for Ranis in Balmora, but at least she doesn't want me to kill anyone.

J'Dhannar welcomed me back warmly. Free from the skooma he is very personable, and I hoped the time was right to tell him the whole truth. "You know I was looking for skooma addicts in Vivec. I've let it seem like a quest for knowledge, or a humanitarian mission of some sort. There's more to it."

"Go ahead friend Arvil Bren. I will listen. Whatever your purpose, I offer my services."

"You better hear me out before you make any offers J'Dhannar," I said. "I went to Vivec on a mission, but since I was going a very special friend asked me to look for you. Ahnassi." His tail gave one sudden twitch at mention of her name. Had I not been spending so much time with Khajiit I wouldn't have recognized his surprise.

"Ahnassi. My mate." His eyes slitted down as he spoke. "You love her. If Khajiit mating bonds were like humans, you could have just killed me. Instead you had to find me and wrest my life away from the skooma. The ways of the divines are strange indeed, good friend." His tail swished gently, not agitation, just deep in thought. "Arvil Bren, you do not know the ways of the Khajiit. It is very rare for a mating bond to be broken. Ahnassi and I cannot meet, we must both tell another that our bond is broken. That other must be someone we both trust absolutely. You can see how difficult that would usually be. For one who would be the new mate can hardly be friend to the old, yes? But you have given me my life good friend Arvil Bren, I cannot but trust you. I have treated Ahnassi badly. I and the skooma. There will always be a place for her in my heart, but I can walk with her no more. She deserves better than to walk always alone. Treat her well."

I sighed with relief. Then I wondered. Ahnassi had not actually said anything about mating with me. What does she intend to do with her new freedom? And would I be ready for the kind of commitment the Khajiit expect in a mate? Before I got too caught up in this line of thinking I was brought back to another direction. J'Dhannar asked what mission had taken me to Vivec City in the first place, and how it had gone.

"Actually, I could use some help with that too," I admitted. "I am to find a Khajiit named Addhiranirr. She reportedly lives in St. Olms."

"You do not work for the Census and Excise, do you Arvil Bren?" That brought agitation to the swishing tail. Clearly the Census and Excise is not considered a source of friends.

"No, not at all. She is a friend of a friend, and he hopes she can give him some information she may have picked up in her travels."

"My good friend Addhiranirr is very well traveled. You would be hard pressed to find her, she is always hiding from the Census and Excise. Arvil Bren my good friend, I have enjoyed the warm sands of this fine place long enough. The mages have been most kind and hospitable, but I must move on and start life anew. Tomorrow I will go with you to Vivec and find Addhiranirr, then I shall take ship home to Elsweyr."

Fate, which sometimes seems so cruel, is smiling on me; at least for now.

_**Day Fifty-eight: Taxman evasion**_

I again have a home. A home that I cannot allow the Dark Brotherhood to find. I may not be able to come here often for now, but someday I will complete whatever my fate demands of me and be able to settle here. It is a modest house, though compared to the shacks I have lived in on Vvardenfell it is a castle. A castle fit for a king, with Ahnassi as my queen.

J'Dhannar, true to his word, went to Vivec with me to seek Addhiranirr. I met him for lunch at the Brewer's and Fishmonger's Hall. "Did you find her?" I asked, as steaming bowls of crabmeat chowder were placed before us.

"Yes friend, I found her," he purred back between sips. "She is in the sewers, hiding. There is a Customs and Excise man, very clever, who has come to Vivec City. This agent has taken it into his head that Addhiranirr is a smuggler; a smuggler that for some reason he is very much wanting to catch."

"Well, from what you said before she is a smuggler," I pointed out.

"Yes my good friend Arvil Bren, she is. So are you. I have come to know you well enough. You didn't destroy that skooma. You sold it. Probably some Dwemer weapons from your little war with the cult down in the underworks as well. Your Emperor declares things illegal; skooma, sugar, ebony, Dwemer artifacts. All of a sudden good people are smugglers. My good friend Addhiranirr is a good person, and really not much of a smuggler. This agent has just set his sights on her. For you to talk to her we must do something about this n'wah, Duvianus Platorius."

"What can we do?" I asked. The thought of spearing an Imperial agent in the middle of St. Olms canton crossed my mind briefly. I am really starting to worry about my conscience. Sometimes it seems to have abandoned me when I reached this violent shore. We both pondered quietly while we devoured some magnificent steaks.

The plan we arrived at was worthy of Caius the spymaster himself. Most Dunmer consider that all Khajiit look alike anyway, so it was not too hard for J'Dhannar to disguise himself as a female, given the right clothes. I wished him all the best and gave him a good stake in gold septims. He set off, making it clear to the gondolier and anyone else in earshot that "Vvardenfell would not be wiping its feet on the fur of Addhiranirr any more." I chuckled at his dramatic flair as I set off to complete my part in the plan.

I began in the plaza. As people passed I would stop them to ask if they had seen a Khajiit. Most said no, but some said yes. Those who did would get a description that would do little good, and the name Addhiranirr. Occasionally someone would admit they knew her. " I hear she left the city. She is a good friend of a friend, and I am supposed to get her a message before she leaves for Elswhyr. If someone could definately tell me she left I would try to catch up to her." This line had some slight truth in it. Some. Somewhere.

It was in the common area of the waistworks that the fish took the bait. I was speaking to a Dunmer woman when a man interupted. "Addhiranirr? She is my friend also. You say she has left the city?"

"So I was told. Actually I was told she said she was leaving, but I haven't been able to verify that. I'm not familiar with the city, so I don't know where to start."

The Dunmer woman suggested "You should ask around among the gondoliers. If she was leaving and not coming back she would have too much to carry for a long walk." I couldn't have asked for more if I'd told her what to say.

"Good idea," said the man, and hurried off.

The woman gave me a wink. "Always good to see a taxman scurry. He thinks he is so sly, that one. I heard that Addhiranirr made a great display out of getting on a gondola this afternoon. If she was that obvious about it she must have wanted him to know. She probably swam right back. She is a pretty good swimmer, for a kitty."

I met Addhiranirr in the underworks. The once again abandoned shrine makes a good landmark. She was very pleased with the deception we had crafted, and her friends had already informed her that the taxman had taken ship for Ebonheart following the obvious trail J'Dhannar had left. He would continue using her name until he sailed for Elswhyr.

I got what information she had for Caius. She dismissed the Nerevarine prophecies as a tale to scare little kittens. The Sixth House cult she did not dismiss. They are having a major impact in her world; the world of smuggling. She doesn't know what they are after, but she knows that many of her contacts are now too busy to work with anyone else but the cult. And some have disappeared.

_**Day Fifty-nine: A rest for the weary**_

This morning it was just too hard to pursue my fate. Ahnassi's hospitality seems to stop the world around us. We both know that with the Dark Brotherhood hunting me I have to keep moving, and that we can't let it be known that she is dear to me. Tomorrow I will get back to my mission, and my fate. For today I picked flowers.

I did get a couple things done. Nelos and Maurrie, under the guise of a shopping excursion, delivered my notes to Caius in Balmora. They are such a happy couple. Nelos is still the rogue, charming the crowds who he plays for every night at the Halfway Tavern, but everyone knows at the end of the evening it is Maurrie on his arm as he wends his way home. Whenever I am confronted by the ugly tasks my fate might demand, I will think of the part it gave me to play in bringing those two together.

Another positive thing about my fate couldn't be ignored. When Ahnassi offered to share her life and her house she said I could take anything I need. She is comfortable, but far from wealthy. Typical of the Khajiit she has no real sense of property. Her curious nature leads her to places that are meant to be secure, through locked doors and guarded passages, but she usually will take nothing more than a trinket for a souvenir. She knew I had sold some Dwemer artifacts to Mebestian Ence, so she knew she wasn't taking in a complete pauper, but she had no idea the wealth my fate has dealt into my hands since I arrived penniless at Seyda Neen. I set my mark in her hallway and transported all my goods from my cave. She was stunned.

Complete sets of steel and bonemold plate, bits and pieces of imperial steel and Indoril bonemold, piles of swords and other weapons that I couldn't give up; the hallway is somewhat cluttered. The cost of the Indoril armor alone would feed us for the rest of our lives. I could open an armorer's shop and live well. Ahnassi was horrified. "How could my true friend have just left this all sitting in a cave?" she cried.

"It's just armor, Ahnassi," I told her. "It could be replaced." She picked up an axe made of gleaming Dwemer metal. "That may be rare, but I sold one just like it to Mebestian. The really rare things I keep in Ald-ruhn. Not for their value; it's just things that would be hard to replace. I have some rare books in my library, and I've put a lot of effort into my enchanting lab."

"True enough," she said. "There is nothing here that could not be found." She waved a sleek paw over my armory. "There is a lot though. More than a Khajiit could use, certainly, so a Khajiit would not worry if it got lost, but a Breton, a Breton worries about property. Valuable property. How do you not worry?"

I opened my pouch. I keep a couple hundred gold septims in it. It weighs a couple pounds. Then I showed her the broad strap that it hangs from. In its multitude of compartments it holds the gems and Dwemer coins that make my accumulated wealth manageable. Were it all in gold it would be about fifteen thousand septims. Fate has made demands, but it has compensated me well.

She pressed the coda flower I had brought her to her nose, enjoying the fragrance. "I asked you for this. You gave it to me and said I was your queen."

I laughed. "You could have asked for a crown."

_**Day Sixty: This is a problem**_

I have been in Morrowind for two months. Two months. The changes Vvardenfell have wrought on me in two months are hard to believe. I arrived penniless, now I am wealthy beyond my grandest ambition. I was in prison when my father died in a cell down the hall. I arrived here totally alone, now I have a home, a mate, and good friends; Drelasa at the Halfway, Nelos and Maurrie, Mebestian the trader. I arrived a criminal, but Larrius Varro, the Legion Champion at Moonmoth Fort, has apparently put in a word at the fort here. The legions treat me with respect, not suspicion; respect even beyond what they give the average citizen. I could enjoy a great peaceful lifetime in Pelagiad. I could, except there is another change. I arrived here the way I did because I was a common criminal who cared for nothing beyond myself. Now the problems of an entire land and its people are settling onto my shoulders.

Nine-toes appeared at my door this morning. I said a hurried goodbye to Ahnassi, and accompanied the Argonian to Seyda Neen. Elone the Redguard, who tends bar at the tradehouse, welcomed us quietly as we slipped unseen into her house. Nine-toes' skills in the school of illusion are impressive. The duration of his invisibility spells would be far beyond my abilities. Elone served him a restorative to build his reserves of magica, and he slipped back out of the house. I drank tea. When Nine-toes returned he was not alone. Caius and Tyermaillin, the high elf healer, appeared at his side. This was a counsel of the Blades, called out of respect for the seriousness of the situation. I was glad for the tea, I needed a clear head.

Elone spoke first. "Caius, I've said many times that you worry too much. I'm sorry. I am disappointed in myself for not having been able to find out anything about what is going on, but I have seen, clearly, the scope of it; whatever it is. Smuggling has ground almost completely to a halt, at least in terms of the usual black markets. Part of that can be laid at those feet," she pointed at me, "since he decimated the Cammona Tong for whatever reason got into his head, but the independents are gone also. A lot of them have just disappeared, others show up to drink, but they are very quiet about what they are up to. They have money to drink, lots of it, but they seem to have no goods to sell."

"None to the usual buyers Elone," Caius said, "but they are plying their trade." The spymaster gave a nod in my direction.

"Our contact among the smugglers in Vivec says the same thing; sources of the usual black market goods are drying up. People she used to do business with are too busy now, busy with a new player; the Sixth House cult." I spoke clearly, calmly. I was honored to be in this counsel, and wanted desperately to be looked at as more than a wild card, my vendetta against the Cammona Tong aside. "I believe this cult also accounts for those who disappeared, and they are no friends of the Cammona Tong either. I was in a cave to the south, a hideout my Thieve's Guild contacts reported as a Tong waystation. It had been taken over, and I would guess the Tong operatives account for at least some of the corprus stalkers roaming the cavern."

"Corprus!" Tyermaillin interjected. "Are you saying this cult uses corprus disease to eliminate their opposition? That's absolutely monstrous."

Caius made it even worse. "Not just to eliminate opposition," he said. "They use it to control their followers. Strength, power, freedom from hunger; there are those who take it on willingly, choosing the cult and a life of mindless savagery."

"In the cave I saw a corprus stalker, feeding on itself," I reported. "Their wounds heal so fast that taking a chunk to eat is no problem for them. I don't understand how they can grow back more than they cut off though."

"Corprus is more like a curse than a disease," Tyermaillin explained. "It has a huge magica factor that fuels the growth. All of the blight diseases do, but corprus is by far the strongest."

"So the current Sixth House cult is somehow connected with a blight disease, which should be contained on Red Mountain," said Caius. "Red Mountain, coincidentally the ancestral home of House Dagoth, the defeated sixth house of the Dunmer. The Tribunal Temple contends that the ghostfence contains the blight, a curse unleashed by Dagoth Ur as his citadel fell, but anyone afoot in Vvardenfell can see that the containment is not complete. Reports of blighted creatures are on the rise, and the Empire is about to impose a quarantine on the island."

Nine-toes put in a thought that was in my own mind as well. "Unleashed by Dagoth Ur? If that is so, how does it continue. Magica loses its focus quickly. Even the mightiest spells do not long outlive their caster."

"Quarantine? On the entire island?" Elone said. "If there is no legal shipment out of goods, and the smugglers all belong to the Sixth House, the entire population will be at their mercy!"

"A lot of people will get hungry, certainly," Caius concluded, "and the Sixth House has a solution to hunger. But you credit them for something they lack Elone. They have no mercy."

"Caius, you are saying that the Empire is playing directly into their hands. You have to stop them," said Tyermaillen.

"I'm open to suggestions," snapped the spymaster. "The Emperor is not going to ignore the spread of the blight, he has to respond somehow, and a quarantine seems effective, from the outside. He was concerned that someone would step up to the mantle of Nerevar and unite the Dunmer in revolt. I fear that only the legendary Nerevarene can keep them from being united by whatever has taken up the cause of House Dagoth."

As we left, the invisibility provided by Nine-toes' illusions hid somber faces. My own perhaps more than the others. To them the idea of the Nerevarine being the answer to the problem of the Sixth House falls in the area of hope; wishful thinking. To me the idea is terrifying. I might be the Nerevarine. I might have to be.

I was not surprised by the hiss in my ear. I am getting used to Nine-toes I guess. "Arvil Bren, I respect your command of magica."

"You are a master of illusion..." I began, but he waved me to silence.

"Yours to speak Arvil Bren, and ours to listen, but not the usual softskin spreading of compliments. It is time for thought. The Tribunal of the Dunmer are 'living gods', who have survived since the time of the great house wars. Their enemy in those wars, Dagoth Ur, they say cast the blight, like a spell. What does this make you think?"

I wanted to tell him I thought something else, something other than the obvious conclusion he had reached. I wanted to, but I couldn't. The immortal Tribunal's enemy is just like them. Dagoth Ur is still alive.

_**Day Sixty-one: On the right side of Vivec City**_

This morning I had an early breakfast at the Halfway Tavern. Leaving Pelagiad, and Ahnassi, was difficult. It may be a while before I can go home. How Drelasa Ramothran, the publican, keeps up I will never understand. The Halfway is always busy in the evenings; with clandestine meetings of thieves guild operatives, travelers on the Vivec to Balmora road, and off duty Legionnaires from the fort. Drelasa never closes the bar if there is a hint of a paying customer. But she is there cooking breakfast before dawn for the guards who are going on shift and want something more appealing than the barracks fare. She is a marvel.

When I arrived in Vivec I warily approached the first Ordinator that I saw. He was surly, as usual.

"What do you want, outlander?"

"I want no trouble, I assure you of that. I just want to report that there is a Daedric cult operating in the underworks."

"We here rumors like that every day, outlander. Move along and don't waste my time."

I couldn't help it. My mind started running a tally on the value of the Indoril armor this fool was so pompously filling. My thoughts ran their course, but I stuck to mine. "In this case though the rumor includes a location of their shrine to their bad Daedra. I've seen it myself. In the underworks beneath St. Olms canton."

"I am patrolling here, outlander, in the foreign quarter." He waved his hand up at the towering canton. "Someone is killing outlanders, outlanders like you. Personally, I'm all for it, but right now I have a job to do; finding this killer before they find you, or some other outlander, and slit their throat. Now, you might tell someone patrolling over in St. Olms, or you might take your tale right to the Office of the Watch in the Hall of Justice. If you keep bothering me I might slit your throat myself. One more outlander chalked up to the killer."

I left. That conversation did not go at all the way I had hoped. Once I had walked a ways I was able to give the Ordinator a little benefit of the doubt. A murderer loose on his own beat would take precedence over a Daedra cult in a far corner of the city I guessed. His advice, though badly delivered, seemed sound. I headed for the Hall of Justice.

The Hall of Justice could not be called friendly confines. The more polite muttered 'outlander' as we passed in the hall, but many of them did not greet me at all. Some I wondered if they even saw me; others I knew did when I heard them hiss 'scum', or something worse, after they had passed. By the time I found the Office of the Watch I was wondering if I was wasting my time. I had intended to show some good faith and earn some support from the local authorities, but it seemed unlikely to work. My timing turned out to be pretty good though.

At the Office of the Watch I was met by Tarar Braryn, a subcommander of the watch. The Order of the Watch is one of four Orders, and is responsible for security within the city. He was clearly unfriendly, but polite. I gave him a thorough report of all that I knew about the shrine.

"And what had you wandering the sewers under our city?" he asked abruptly.

I told him about Moroni Uvelas and her lost husband, how I had found his ring on the corprus stalker, and my suspicions about the cult being the source of the disease. "I didn't get a name, but a skooma addict, Khajiit, that I ran into said the cult sometimes takes in addicts and they are never seen again. I assume that is what happened to Uvelas."

"You need to be careful in the sewers, Breton," he said. "You seem a good man, for an outlander. It seems someone has taken to killing outlanders, and until we find them you should probably stay in better traveled areas."

"Mostly I do," I said.

"Good. Where could we find you if we have any questions?"

"At the Mage's Guild in the foreign quarter," I replied. "I don't stay there, but if you leave a message with the guild guide I will get it. I will be coming and going quite a bit in the next few days. Mage Guild business."

"Ah, the Mage's Guild," his voice softened. "Arvil Bren, this is unofficial, but I need a favor."

A chance to get in good with a subcommander of the watch! "What do you need?"

"I let the drink get a little the better of me last night, and responded to arrogance with arrogance of my own. I need you to convey my apologies."

"To who?" I asked.

"Trebonius Artorius. I called him a flathead. This morning I woke up with a rash that seems impervious to all spells, potions and cures. I suspect I will be scratching until he gets my apology."

I could hardly believe that he had called the Archmage of Vvardenfell a flathead, and could even less believe that the Archmage would be so petty, but I told him I would see what I could do. As it turns out, I overestimated Trebonius. He is that petty...and a bit of a flathead as well. When I delivered Braryn's apology he drew a potion from within his robe. "Ha! I thought that would teach him some humility! Give him this, with my regards." I bristled slightly at being ordered about, but only to myself. The self absorbed archmage took no notice.

Sirlonwe did notice. The willowy high elf called me aside and led me to her chamber. "You need to be quicker Arvil Bren. That arrogant son of a guar hands off orders like a kagouti shakes off ticks. Who has he cursed with his petty rash this time?" When I told her she just shook her head. "A subcommander of the Ordinators! Who will he offend next? As if we outlanders weren't unwelcome enough!"

From my previous visits I knew that Sirlonwe would waste no time spreading this gossip through the guild hall. Once I saw that she was deeply engrossed I slipped back to her room and took the book Edwinna needs from her closet. Sirlonwe is so involved in undermining Trebonius that she might never notice it missing.

I delivered the cure to Tarar Braryn. He had already sent a pair of Ordinators into the sewers of St. Olms to check out the shrine. They had apparently identified the remains of one or more of the cult's leaders. Tarar grudgingly added respect to his gratitude for the cure. "Dangerous characters. The city is better off without them. We don't encourage taking the law into your own hands around here Arvil Bren, but I suppose we can thank you this once. My men will be quite busy rounding up their followers."

The rumor mill of the city will get that around. It should make it a little easier to complete my tasks for Caius. The last informant I need to contact works in the main temple library. Being somewhat a friend of a watch subcommander I may be able to get in there without being hounded by the Ordinators.

I slipped through the guild hall, avoiding the archmage, and got transported to Ald-ruhn. Edwinna was very pleased to have the Chimarvamidium, and promised to return it quickly. I think I'll let the word churn among the Ordinators and take a few days away from Vivec, just in case Sirlonwe notices her loss.

_**Day Sixty-two: The conjurer's apprentice**_

I wanted to spend a little time away from Vivec City, and tonight I am far away indeed. Maar Gan is a small Redoran outpost in the Ashlands, on the slopes of Red Mountain itself. Standing on the wall that surrounds the main part of the town I can see the ghostfence glowing dimly to the east. What an incredible artifact! The ghostfence completely surrounds the crater area of the ancient volcano, containing the blight curse of Dagoth Ur. Mostly containing it anyway.

I spent the evening drinking here at the tradehouse, a rough and ready establishment run by Manse Andus. The food is adequate but not memorable, the drink abundant enough that I might not remember it much either. Drinking with warriors and crusaders demands a certain constitution that is not a part of my Breton heritage. It was an honorable company though, and I gave my best.

Maar Gan is sorely beset by the blight. Blighted creatures roam into town on an almost daily basis. The Ashlander natives are running short of game, and are beginning to prey on caravans and travelers. Horrible ash storms blow over the town intermittently, blotting out the sun. The faint of heart have fled, but there are few of those among the Dunmer of House Redoran. The few who left have been more than replaced by the heroic contingent from throughout Morrowind that has answered the call to support the local guards. That's not what I came for, though in passing I did contribute.

I actually came to Maar Gan at Edwinna's request, motivated as usual by my own concerns. As the steward of the guild hall in Ald-ruhn, Maar Gan is her responsibility. When reports of trouble with their local mage came in from Maar Gan I offered to investigate so she could continue her research. Hopefully she will finish with the book I borrowed from Sirlonwe by the time I return. The disturbance did not take long to quell, but I may walk back to Ald-ruhn tomorrow. Tonight's revelry may not sit well with the rolling gait of the silt strider.

When I arrived it was quite simple to get directions to Huleen's hut. The Argonian is, I suppose, the only mage in the area, and is well known among the townspeople even though his house is outside the walls. Getting to his house was another matter. A scrib, bloated beyond the capacity of its six spindly legs, writhed on a nearby hillside, and I stopped to still the poor beast with a well placed shot from my bow. Climbing up to make sure the creature was dead took me out of sight of the town.

The Ashlanders are well attuned to their arid homelands. I did not see the attack coming until the axe fell. I was saved by the black chainmail I wear under my clothes. My shirt hung in tatters from the serrated edges of the weapon, which was made from the chitinous shell of what appears to be a large insect, probably a beetle. Had my attacker known the resilience of my armor he would have aimed for my head. I grappled him and we rolled down the hillside in a tangle of arms and legs. When we skidded to a halt I was on my feet first, with shortsword in hand. I hoped that he would surrender, or at least flee. I saw no need to continue to the death with a man driven to desperation by hunger. I suppose to the Ashlander it was too late to stop; a question of honor. After a brief exchange of blows he lay dead in the dust, his honor more intact than his skin.

When I found Huleen's hut the cause of complaint was obvious. The brief outcries were mixed with the sound of crashing glass and splintering wood. I don't know where Huleen is. His apprentice, Listien Bierles, said he would be back in a few days. The apprentice has a lot of cleaning up to do before then, and a lot of explaining to do after. The scamp that he conjured locked him in a closet and fairly well destroyed everything in the house. Fortunately it did not escape, though it had clawed about halfway through the heavy wooden front door. I suppose if it had gotten free it would have just been a small addition to the problems facing Maar Gan.

_**Day Sixty-three: Wandering mage**_

My plan to walk back to Ald-ruhn was blown away by an ill wind this morning. I was awakened early by a strange sound, and slipped from my bed with shortsword in hand. Adrenaline coursed into my veins, quickly clearing my expected hangover. I guess it's true that even the most ill wind blows some good. Guest rooms at the tradehouse are on the lower level, below ground, and I crept up the stairs. The groaning creaking grew louder. I paused near the top step, and nearly bolted out of my skin when a great hand clapped loudly on my shoulder, backed by the hearty bellow of a huge orc. "Good morning Arvil! Didn't expect to see you up and about this morning! Looking mighty wide awake too, with sword in hand! You are more than I expected."

If we hadn't been fast friends drinking each other's health far into the night I might have stuck him with the sword. From the multitude of scars crosshatching the green hide the great warrior probably wouldn't have given one more any great concern. My hangover burst back with a rush. "Quietly. Please my friend. Quietly. What is that noise?" As if on cue a deep groan rumbled through the building.

"Oh ho!" he boomed, and I winced again. "These Redorans use the native shells of the giant insects of the Ashlands for their constructions. That sound is the sound of great plates of beetle shell grinding together as a gust heaves against them. The constant rustling is gritty ash being thrown against the building on the wind. This is an ash storm, not a good day to be outside. The ash carries the blight. Tomorrow will be a good day to find monsters, heavy and powerful with the blight, but not yet so bloated that they can't think or move well." The orc warrior's eyes blazed at the thought of glorious battle. I'd just as soon let them bloat up and pop them with an arrow.

The warriors gathered to defend Maar Gan shared a cheerful breakfast table under the great groaning shell. Andus will have a profitable day; they were drinking before the dishes were cleared. They were insistent in their invitation that I ride out the storm with them and join them in the battle that is sure to follow, but I had to pass. I'm confident I would survive the battle, but the preliminaries in the bar full of warriors were daunting. I braved the wind and made it to the strider port, and fled Maar Gan. As things worked out it was just as well I made a fast return to Ald-ruhn.

The journey was unforgettable, unfortunately. The caravaner stretched a tarp over the cockpit to keep the blowing ash out. I have somewhat adjusted to the hollowed space inside the shell of the silt strider. I've even gotten used to seeing the caravaners work the controls; some of which are cords running down into the guts of the beast to attach to unseen organs, others being exposed tangles of nerves directly accessed with prods and kicks. What I had not really noticed before is the smell! Keeping the ash out is critical, not only for our comfort, but obviously for the health of the strider, but I would have killed the caravaner for a breath of fresh air by the time we arrived in Ald-ruhn. I ran through the swirling ash and dust and burst gratefully into the guild hall.

Edwinna had left word for me to see her as soon as I arrived. The book, as it turns out, had been of no use to her research. I immediately took transport to Vivec City, where the guild hall was in an uproar. The missing book had been noticed, apparently. Sirlonwe had all but accused Trebonius of taking it out of spite. The archmage, for his part, was threatening her with disciplinary action for having lost the book, which he said was guild property. Tensions were running high. I visited the alchemist, purchasing comberries, gold kanet, and some other flowers that are abundant around Vivec City but don't grow in the Ashlands. With a good reason for my brief visit established I slipped into Sirlonwe's room, stashed the book in her closet under a neatly folded robe, and nonchalantly took transport back to Ald-ruhn.

Edwinna was pleased. "Sounds like you could be a suspect, but there will never be any proof. They're so wrapped up in their own petty sniping that they won't actually do anything, once the book is found. That pompous fool Trebonius wouldn't know a book if it slammed shut on his bald Imperial head! A handful of destruction spells and a will to blast away at anything he doesn't understand hardly makes an archmage!" It is clear that Trebonius' appointment as the Archmage of Vvardenfell by the council in Cyrodiil meets little local approval.

As always, Edwinna rapidly turned the conversation back to her research. Tonight I am collapsed with exhaustion in a tradehouse in the town of Gnissis, after yet another immersion in the miasma of a silt strider's innards. Thankfully, Gnissis is on the coast, and we broke clear of the dust storm about halfway here. The bracing sea air is working wonders, and I'm sure I will sleep well. Tomorrow I will travel north, to the outpost at Ald Velothi, and from there follow the coast to a Dwemer ruin called Arkngthunch-Sturdumz. As a language, I must say Dwemer does not translate well. Anyway, Edwinna needs a Dwemer tube for her project,and it falls to me to find one for her.

._**Day Sixty-four: Paying the price of the blight**_

Having me for a mate has certainly put a whole new world of unpredictability in Ahnassi's life. Life on Vvardenfell is unpredictable enough, I suppose. My sudden appearance standing on my magic mark in her hallway may be a bit much. She is happy to have me home though, and I'm happy to be here. Ahnassi will bring Mebestian to the house in the morning so I can pass him this load of Dwemer relics and slip out of town unseen. Keeping my presence in Pelagiad unknown to the Dark Brotherhood is vital, and today fortune dropped a great tool into my hands for doing just that.

When I set out this morning on the road to Ald Velothi I had no idea I would end up here. The West Gash region is beautiful; clear skies glowing over lush vegetation. Even though the road did not follow directly along the coast the air carries a salty tang. I enjoyed the hike, though the numerous roads were sometimes confusing. As in any paradise, there were unexpected dangers, and as is often the case the most beautiful was the most deadly.

The sun was nearing its peak when I rounded a curve in the road and saw a lovely woman pacing agitatedly to and fro along the roadside. She exuded a wanton desire that instantly clashed with my commitment to Ahnassi. Perhaps without that commitment she may have commanded enough of my attention for her plan to work. As it happened, in my internal conflict my eyes darted about and picked up something. Something that raised my guard, though I wasn't sure what. A sense of movement, a brief outline of an armored shoulder perhaps. Not invisibility, but a powerful chameleon spell in use. Had I been riveted on the woman, as I would have been a month ago, the plan would have worked and I would be dead at the bottom of a murky pool.

The woman introduced herself as Synette Jeline, a 'private dancer' on her way to Gnises for an engagement. She professed to hoping for someone heroic to come by, as she had dropped her ring into the nearby pool. In the bright noon sun it could be seen glistening, even through the murky water. She pouted. "I couldn't just leave it, but I couldn't very well show up for my engagement smelling like a muck pond, now could I? If you would be my hero and get that ring for me I'm sure we could think of some suitable reward." Her sultry voice was intended to leave no doubt where this was going. Having noticed her lurking accomplice I already had no doubt where it was going. There was a steep, narrow approach down to the pond. The rest was rimmed with steep rock. It was a perfect trap.

I waded into the water. My black armor is light enough to swim in, so I didn't have to remove it, as I'm sure they intended. I ducked into the murk, grabbed the ring, and began casting spells. Shielding, armor skin; all the protection I could muster. Then I broke the surface. As expected, I was met by an arrow that seemed to spring from the rock, and a steel throwing star glowing with venom as it flew from the dancers perfectly formed hand. They tore through my sleeve and clattered off my armored forearm. Had I not been prepared they would have stopped in my skull. I was so sorry to be right. I dropped back below the surface, cast a water breathing spell, and hid in a patch of weeds.

Had they been patient I would have cast a levitation spell and invisibility, and floated up and out over the rocks to reverse the ambush. They were not patient. The two women charged into the water, expecting to flush cornered prey from the weeds. I went into the water with only a shortsword; the first thrust of my conjured spear caught them completely unprepared. Regretfully I watched the shapely form of Synette Jeline float lifelessly in the murk, darkening the water with her gushing blood.

The murky water and weeds made me just as hard to see as my chameleon shrouded foe; harder in fact. The rippling waters revealed the source of their disturbance, even if my eyes could not pick her out. She had to break the surface to breath, and I drove my spear into the center of the sudden rings that marked her location. Chitin armor sheared cleanly, and the fearsome Daedric spear tore through her throat. The spell ended with her life, and the swirling energies of the illusion were drawn into an amulet that hung from her neck as the corpse settled slowly towards the bottom. That amulet now graces my own neck, and will serve me well in leaving Pelagiad unseen. The rest of their armor and weapons I sold to a smith in Ald Velothi.

The smith, Orero Omothan, was the first person I met in the town, and she was not ready to do business. I actually met her in the street, far from her forge, not knowing she was the smith. She seemed to be just a distraught woman. After the ambush at the pond another distraught woman was not what I was looking for, but I stopped to see what the problem was.

Orero immediately put out a hand to relieve me of the bundled armor that I carried. "I'll hold that for you adventurer. Please. You have to help Madura! She is a harmless pilgrim. The savage Ashlanders have kidnapped her!" How do I continually walk into these things?

I did not want to get sidetracked on a fruitless search through the Ashlands. If they had taken this pilgrim away there would be no point trying to track the natives. "How long are they gone?" I asked.

"Not long, and not far. They have her in their camp on the top of the hill there." She pointed, and I could see the wisp of smoke from a campfire. "They want to ransom her, but who can afford to pay them. Savages! If we pay them they will just kidnap someone else tomorrow."

I handed over the bundle. "Take these to the local smith. I'll be there to barter them later today."

She smiled. "I am the smith. Rescue Madura and I'll give you a great price." Chitin armor; if she gave me twice what it was worth it still wouldn't be much. I trudged towards the Ashlander camp.

The chameleon amulet is extremely effective. I slipped through the camp like a shadow, pausing to listen to snatches of conversation, and locating the leader's yurt, where I guessed the hostage would be held. These ashlanders had lived peacefully in the west gash for generations, and given the centuries long lifespan of the Dunmer, generations is a long time. The coming of the Redorans had squeezed them, and now their own brethren, driven down from Red Mountain by the blight, were squeezing them further, beyond a breaking point. To them there was no more right or wrong in ransoming a pilgrim than there would be in taking a cliff racer or harvesting the trama root. What their ancestors brought to their land was brought for their use, from their point of view.

I pulled the amulet off as I entered the leader's yurt, bypassing his guards. The Daedric spear glowing in my hands and my sudden appearance conveyed that I would be a dangerous opponent, keeping the point down and a relaxed grip would let him know I did not really want to fight, I hoped. "It is death to enter an Ashkahn's yurt uninvited outlander, but I forgive you. You are here for the woman no doubt." He waved dismissively towards a sturdy Dunmer woman who sat on a stool. "As you can see she is unharmed. Not even bound. There is no need, she would not make it past the warriors outside. You might. She won't. If you want her you will have to pay for her."

I activated the amulet, briefly, and pulled it off once more. "Or go out and kill them one by one while she waits in safety, but no one wants that. I would actually rather pay a reasonable ransom so your people can be fed. Is that what you would prefer, or do you want to lead them into death? Or you might even kill me, and her, and starve. You choose."

"We did not take her to kill her outlander. Nor do I want to kill you, or your blood would be seeping into the floor right now. My people are hungry. The soft people of the great house clans take more food than they can eat, and ship it away to markets, while we go hungry. They are soft, but the Redoran soldiers are not. They have honor, and I do not want to fight them, but the soft ones have no honor and let the guards fight for them. When the Tribunal Temple let the great houses onto the land they gave away what was not theirs to give, now with the blight we must take it back, or starve."

"The blight will pass Ashkahn. Learn to live with the great houses. They aren't going to go away, but hopefully there will not be many more of them invading your land." I gave him a thousand gold pieces. "Buy the food that they ship to far away lands. They will do better selling it to you, and they will know that if they cheat you you will run out of gold, and that will just cause more problems. War can be honorably chosen, but don't let the blight drive you to it."

He nodded reluctantly, and shook my hand. "Go in peace, outlander, and take this one with you." He pulled the woman roughly to her feet. I wondered as we walked out of the tent if he would signal the guards to let us pass, or have us slain. To the great house Dunmer the Ashlanders may be savages, but they keep their word. I brought the hostage, much subdued, into the outpost.

"It is up to you to let the townspeople know that cheating the Ashlanders, or refusing to sell them food, will lead to war, a war without honor. The Redoran guard doesn't need that, the Ashlanders don't need that, and the townspeople don't need that." She nodded quiet agreement.

"Outlander, you paid a king's ransom for my release. Why? They would have taken far less."

"And then they would have taken someone else. Hopefully that was enough to hold them over until the blight eases," I explained.

"What makes you think the blight will ever ease?" she asked with no hope in her voice.

"I'm working on it," I said, as if that would somehow make a difference.

The ruins were easily found by following the coast west from Ald Velothi, just as Edwinna said. I am glad I didn't have to approach this redoubtable fortress during the Dwemer's day. It stands on a rocky pinnacle, high above the sea. A series of two stout bridges, made of Dwemer metal, must be crossed as mighty chasms yawn below. The remains of a mighty siege engine, a device like a crossbow, but with a span longer than the height of two men, still points the length of the bridge. Charging into the bolts such a device could hurl would be a daunting task for the boldest warriors. A towering statue still stands, overseeing the ruined defenses.

The ruins yielded the tube Edwinna needs, and enough other artifacts to make a good load for Mebestian, but I suspect it will not cover my losses on the day. A small price paid for peace, however fleeting. The blight must be stopped, or this island is going to be torn apart.

_**Day Sixty-five: Promoted by the Archmage**_

I have been called to Vivec. Had I known that when I got up this morning I might have just walked there. Instead I have been all over the island, mostly by silt strider. I needed the time to think anyway. Not that the thinking did me any good. The bad Daedra cults are spreading the blight. The Sixth House cult is spreading the blight. The Empire is embargoing Vvardenfell, which is going to make matters worse. The Tribunal Temple is pretending they have it all under control, which is making matters worse. If I am the reincarnation of Nerevar I would have thought I would know it, and I would certainly think I'd have at least a clue what to do about it all; and I don't. On the walk to Seyda Neen and the long strider ride to Ald-ruhn I didn't solve any problems, and as soon as I got there new problems started raining down on me.

Edwinna welcomed me, thanked me profusely for the Dwemer tube, and sent me directly to the guild guide for transport to Vivec. The summons from the Archmage Trebonius apparently left no time for pleasantries. I thought I was prepared for the worst, even if I got expelled from the guild I have enough friends. Edwinna and Ranis would probably lobby to get me reinstated. In the shifting allegiances of the guild I think I could get around Trebonius' ire fairly easily. His favor may be a lot more difficult to live with. He greeted me before I got five steps from the guide platform.

"Arvil my lad! Great to have you back from the hinterlands!" he boomed. I'm sure everyone in the guild hall was aware of my return, and probably most of the foreign quarter. I tried not to seem completely thrown off, but I'm sure I failed, and followed the archmage lamely into his office. "I'm promoting you to conjurer! Why those luffers in the lesser halls have been holding you back I'll never know." I could feel the venom of the rest of the guild rising against me with every word. Then he quietly said "nice work with that book, gave me a chance to put that snobbish Altmer Sirlonwe right in her place." Great. "Now listen, you need to start paying dues. I know that won't be a problem, but what you really must do is start sharpening your skills. You have a good diverse range, but some of the other ranking mages think you rely on your spear to the detriment of your abilities. You need a specialty, and you need to practice. You don't need to study all that much. Edwinna in Ald-ruhn has read all the books, near as I can make out, and it wouldn't help her a whit if I sent a fireball up her robe, eh?"

I stammered something that probably made no sense, and handed over two hundred septims in guild dues. Then he kicked me out. The looks I got from the rest of the local mage's left no doubt that this was worse than the expulsion I had expected. Sirlonwe in particular looked like she was measuring me for a casket.

I wanted to get out of the guild hall, and a message waiting for me from Tarar Braryn gave me a good excuse. I levitated down from the plaza level and landed on the surface of the bay using my water walking spell, and walked the length of the city to the temple canton. Practice, practice, practice. I had better bring my skills up to justify my rank fast.

The subcommander of the watch greeted me warmly, again putting me on my guard. I had done him a favor, and had broken up the Daedric cult operating in St. Olms canton, but it wasn't like we parted as friends. As the saying goes, need makes strange fellows. The Ordinators have decided they need somebody, and I'm it.

Their problem is the killings in the foreign quarter. Actually, if the killings had only been outlanders in the foreign quarter I suspect it wouldn't be a problem for them at all. What made it a problem is that the killer had struck again, this time in the Hlaalu canton. Apparently the killer had been surprised in the act during their foray into this expanded range. Two Ordinators were also slain; throats slit, without ever drawing their weapons. In some quarters the dreaded word vampire was being uttered, though the knowledgeable know that the slashed throat would not suit the undead. To a vampire blood spilled is food wasted. The rumors, growing ever wilder, demand a response, and the Ordinators have let it be known they are doing everything they can, even seeking outside help. Me.

Tarar introduced me to Elam Andas, chief of the watch. He gave me all the information they have, which is not much. An outlander mage reported being threatened by a Dunmer woman with a dagger in Hlaalu canton not long before the killings, but his description is vague at best. He got only a brief look before teleporting to safety. He did say that she was wearing netch leather armor. Most people don't openly wear armor around the city. That may be a start at least, and the Ordinators will be cooperative. I might be able to do something to help.

_**Day Sixty-six: Research**_

I took some advantage of being assigned to help the Ordinators with the murders. When I woke this morning I went directly to the library in the Hall of Wisdom, ostensibly to do some research regarding the magic apparently in use. I did learn some things that may help with the murders, but I also had the opportunity to speak to Caius' friend Mehra Milo. From her I learned a lot of things. Then I went to Jobasha's bookstore and got a book that she recommended, and I learned a lot more.

In 'Progress of Truth' the views of a group known as the Dissident priests are set forth. The Dissidents seem to have started by questioning why the Temple hierarchy is so adamant in their persecution of the Nerevarine cult, and progressed from there along lines that have already occurred to me. Like; would the Tribunal want Nerevar back? The Dissidents, in their study of Ashlander legend, have found many points to ponder there. The official story of Nerevar's demise at the hands of Dagoth Ur is countered by the Ashlander belief that the Tribunal is somehow responsible. In fact the Ashlanders claim that Nerevar left Dagoth Ur to guard the Dwemer secrets inside Red Mountain. Those secrets of the Dwemer would account for Dagoth Ur's apparent immortality, and some claim that the Tribunal's immortality was not conferred upon them by the collected ancestors and good Daedra, but is a result of their own use of the Dwemer technologies that they profess were destroyed as profane.

The Dissidents, pursuing these lines of research, naturally ran afoul of the Ordinators. This lead to their own persecution. As they began to personally experience the methods of the Ordinators their own position grew further and further from the Temple leadership. They have reached a point where they are in open defiance of Temple policy in many areas, accusing the leadership of the modern temple of being more interested in maintaining their own authority and luxury than the welfare of the people. The authority of the Ordinators they have flatly rejected.

I must get this book to Caius.

By showing up in Ald-ruhn with a book and immersing myself in study I at least kept Edwinna from being overly offended at my new status in the guild. As she put it, clumsy politics on the part of Trebonius. I also transported to Balmora to gather some ingredients from Ajira, and I am still well liked there. In addition to studying the book of the Dissident priests, I spent some time distilling restoratives with the help of Anarenen the Alchemist. Despite his tendency to ramble he is so skillful that I gratefully spent the time with him. All indications point to some sort of powerful fatigue magic being used by the killer in Vivec, and I want to be prepared. When the killer puts people to sleep, it appears to be permanent.

_**Day Sixty-seven: Journeyman Blade**_

I began my search for the Dunmer woman in the netch armor in the foriegn quarter. I don't know that she is the killer, but looking for her seems like the best way to start. I set out from this point: the Ordinators haven't found her, so she must be somewhere they aren't. This leads directly into the sewers beneath the canton. Another dubious benefit that came to mind is that if I go prowling around in the secluded areas of the foriegn quarter there is a very good chance the killer will find me.

The killer did not find me today, however. I actually didn't make it all the way to the sewers either. The canalworks, a level below the main thoroughfares of the city but above the flowing wastes of the sewers, caught my attention. Despite its huge size, the foriegn quarter canton is crowded, and I found that even the canalworks level hosts shops and other functions. To my surprise I found an Imperial cult shrine discretely occupying a small chapel. Among the businesses an Ordinator paced the halls.

He was not happy. Ordinators, in my experience, never are; but this one was particularly unhappy. I suppose that he also recognized this as the most likely place to look for the killer, and now that the killer has two Ordinators to their credit that isn't so appealing. Before descending into the sewers I asked him about the rest of the canalworks, specifically if there were any unoccupied areas he didn't patrol. He suggested the tombs.

I suppose during some periods of history Morrowind was almost completely isolated, which would mean no foriegners to throng the foriegn quarter. Apparently during those times the native Dunmer occuppied the canton, and where Dunmer live there are tombs for their ancestors. The tombs in the canalworks beneath the foriegn quarter are mostly ignored by those living in our current time, but they are still there, and still home to the dead. A Dunmer with a bent for killing outlanders might consider it a good home as well. I crept inside.

Unlike the family tombs I have visited in the countryside, there are no burial urns in the foriegn quarter tombs. Long centuries of disuse have left it barren; dusty and abandoned. The Dunmer ancestors do not rest quietly in such quarters. In their aggravation they present powerful opposition to disturbance. I was sorely challenged. Skeletal warriors beset me at every turn, armed with mighty claymores crafted of silver. Among them floated strange skeletal constructs with multiple arms held together by glowing robes that revealed no feet or legs as they fluttered above the floor in the creature's wake. These horrors struck with spells, and raked with their great bony claws. Their malice lent credence to the idea that they might shelter a Dunmer with outlander blood on their hands, but they apparently do not. I spent most of the day in the winding passages of the tomb, and found nothing.

I returned to the guild hall in time for dinner. I had an appetite after the efforts of the day, but was covered with dust and my shirt hung in rags over my armor. Rather than face the hostile glare of Sirlonwe and some other obvious jealousies, I got transport to Balmora. Ajira fussed and fretted over my condition. Galbedir gave me a shirt that she hadn't gotten around to enchanting. I had a hot bath and they saved me some dinner. I may not get the respect due my rank in Balmora, but I get friendship, which is far more valuable.

With a full stomache and fresh clothes I set out into the darkened streets, cloaked by my chameleon amulet. I found Caius at home, surrounded by piles of notes. He looked tired. I almost felt guilty as I added the Dissident priest's book 'Progress of Truth' to the stacks.

"Arvil," said the spymaster, "I must admit that when the Emperor sent you to me I did not expect much. The Nerevarine prophecies present some opportunities, and some risks, and to explore those opportunities we needed someone with the right birthday and unknown parentage. Not much of a qualification, but I didn't expect him to go to the Imperial prisons to find someone to fill it. I expected someone from the Legion I suppose, or something. I assumed you would disappear into the swamps, as either a smuggler or a corpse, in short order. You surprised me, and you continue to surprise me, and if there is such a thing as this Nerevarene I can't think of anyone better for it to be than you. Your performance on the missions I've given you has been exemplary. I agree in principle with your stand against the Cammona Tong, and I can't tell you how impressed I was with your efficiency and effectiveness in that matter. And your rise in the Mage's Guild has been meteoric. I've drafted a letter to the Emperor congratulating him on his choosing you for the assignment, and promoting you to journeyman rank."

From convict to ranking member of His Majesty's Secret Service. Amazing. I need to stop looking like a ragimuffin. My black armor was fine when I was using a spear all the time, but the close quarters style of the shortsword is destroying my wardrobe. Tomorrow I will wear a steel cuirasse that will protect me, and my clothes.

_**Day Sixty-eight: The dreamer prophet**_

Tonight I sleep in my own bed in Pelagiad, satisfied with having brought a murderer to justice and so laden by the reward that I had to use my recall spell to get out of the Chief of the Watch's office.

I spent most of my day wandering the sewers of the foreign quarter. The city has a seemingly endless supply of rats, and they provided constant opportunity to practice my marksmanship. While not as comfortable as my spear, the bow is becoming a very effective weapon for me. Which benefited me well in the early afternoon, when a fleeting glimpse of my quarry began the dance of death.

As the woman came into view around a far away corner I saw the netch leather armor. Her immediate dive back around the corner confirmed that she was likely to be guilty of something. I charged down the sewer tunnel, slowing warily as I neared the branching where she had disappeared. When I peered around the corner she was nowhere to be seen. I could hear her though; the sound of boots on stone echoed in the darkness. I pursued.

It did not take long for me to realize that she was not trying to get away. In the twisting, turning passages every corner called for caution. I had started out the hunter, but become the prey. Her footfalls would lead me the direction she wanted me to go, but then fall silent, leaving me to slide with my back to a wall peering into darkened passages. The pursuit wore on, with neither of us getting the opportunity we sought. Then opportunity struck, and so did my dangerous foe. From the darkness a slender dark skinned arm lashed out, the chitin dagger biting into my shoulder.

It was a minor wound, easily recovered from, or ignored, but a terrible weariness immediately sapped my strength away. My eyelids began to droop. I knew if they shut it would be on the last view I would ever see. I lurched towards the flowing canal and activated my levitation boots. I could hear the woman cursing me, as if from a great distance. "Dream the dreams of Dagoth Ur outlander. Sleep the sleep from which there is no waking." As I floated out over the canal I fumbled for the flask of restorative potion on my belt.

An enchanted item will focus magica for as long as the soul of the item can endure. That's the benefit of enchanted items, the user is free to concentrate on other things, or in this case not to concentrate at all. Apparently I fell asleep suspended by my boots above the fetid muck of the canal. When the spell was exhausted I fell into the mire, the stench and chill briefly rousing me from my stupor. Fortunately, the restorative potion was clutched in my fist. I gulped it desperately, gagging on the foulness of the canal water that unavoidably mixed in.

As the restorative surged through my veins I again activated my boots, rising from the muck like an ascending spirit of vengeance. The woman fled as I alit on the far side of the canal with bow in hand. The enchanted arrows I drew from my quiver strike as lightning, and the first took her low in the ribs and swept her forward off her feet. I gave her no chance to rise. Three more strikes and the dreamer prophet of Dagoth Ur lay still on the grimy bank of the sewer.

I took her dagger, which was quite obviously the murder weapon, and considered my options. My clothes, inside my armor, reeked of the sewer, as did my hair. To walk the halls of the canton in this condition would draw attention of the most unwelcome sort. The sewer, on the other hand, could threaten no further indignity. I followed the canal downstream to the passageways end, cast a water breathing spell and dove in, emerging into the bay through a deep grate. With my water breathing spells and my heavy steel armor I walked the bottom of the bay all the way to the temple canton. I emerged, wet but clean, by casting my water walking spell and stepping onto the gondolier dock.

I arrived at Elam Andas's office still damp and bedraggled, but was admitted immediately when I presented the chitin dagger and said "this is the weapon that killed your fellows, and the outlanders. I'm sure the commander would want to hear my report."

He did. He handled the dagger carefully, assessing its enchantments. "You are lucky to be alive, Arvil Bren; lucky, skilled, and determined. The city of Vivec owes you a debt of gratitude. For my part I will provide a more tangible reward." He offered me some choices. I chose the armor of one of the fallen Ordinators. The intricately crafted Indoril armor now graces my collection on the hallway floor. I don't know why I chose it from the rewards offered, since I cannot wear it for fear of being mistaken for an Ordinator, but there may come a time when such a mistake would be desirable, and it is exceptional armor. Ahnassi is impressed.

_**Day Sixty-nine: Enough of the sewers**_

My sleep last night was tormented by dreams, hopefully a last vestige of my encounter with the dreamer prophet rather than a portent of things to come. The prophet herself looked small and unassuming in death when I led the Ordinators to her body this morning. As they carried her up out of the sewers I resolved to search for her lair. I seem to be spending more time in the sewers of Vivec than the sewer rats.

I did not find her lair, but did run afoul of another evil nest. The Orcs of the Wrothgarian mountains have been legally adopted into the Empire. They have all the rights of any other citizens, and many have channeled their innate ferocity into rewarding careers in the Imperial Legions. Legally they are like any other citizens, but they are set apart by their green skins, coarse language, and barbaric ways; and by their widespread devotion to what civilized folk regard as the bad Daedra. Unsurprisingly the orcs of the foreign quarter of Vivec have founded a shrine, hidden in the sewers beneath the city.

Normally I try to be tolerant of the beliefs of others, and so does the Empire. The ancestor worship of the Dunmer is accepted, and the Orcish followers of their Daedra are as well. But my recent experience has shown me that the bad Daedra are exerting their influence on current events; exerting it in favor of Dagoth Ur and the blight. I felt compelled to investigate the Orc's shrine. They did not accept my intrusion gracefully.

The guard at the door was drunk, lolling on a bench. Rather than providing security he fairly announced the presence of the shrine. I used my amulet of shadows to slip past him and through the door. Two Orcs where inside making their offerings to a figure of a Daedra carved of red stone. In the short guttural phrases of their kind they promised their fealty, and reported their successes in spreading death and destruction through the city. Once again an opportunity to combine a public service with satisfying my own avarice presented itself. The woman wore the simple robes of a shaman, but the male was clad in Orcish mail. Orcish armorers are considered to be among the finest in the Empire.

I emerged from the shadows. They could have fled, or greeted me even with hostile suspicion, and lived. But they chose to fight and die. As fast as the barbarian was in drawing his mighty ebony longsword, my conjured spear leapt to hand even faster, and I lanced him through the leg to limit his mobility. The shaman took her opportunity to strike with venomous magic, but the strength of her spell was not sufficient to lay me low, so I let it run its course while I buffeted her with blows from my spear. She was well versed in unarmed combat, nimble and quick, and she blocked or dodged many of my attacks, but soon enough she lay on the floor of the shrine in a spreading pool of blood.

As I turned to face the armored barbarian he roared, "You strike leg in surprise. You kill she with no weapon. Come to sword pinkskin. Your bones will be my dinner." The longsword sliced through the air with a hiss. He had great strength and a sharp heavy blade, and courage of the insanely foolhardy sort. On one leg against the longer reach of my spear he stood no chance. Where it not for the things I had heard him boast to his lord, about women and children whose bones had made his dinners before, I would have felt remorse. I slew him without a second thought.

I have no regrets for the guard at the door either. I did not slay him. I emerged from the shrine with my water walking spell activated, struck him a bare handed blow that roused him from his stupor, and ran onto the surface of the canal. The Orcs have generations of ferocity, strength, and stupidity behind them. They are citizens of the Empire now, and will need to have other qualities of their race emerge. I felt like I was contributing to that as the swirling muck sucked the armor clad warrior down to his death. I strode back onto the deck, looted the shrine, and transported home. I have had enough of the sewers.

_**Day Seventy: To join the Temple**_

I have tired of the warrens of Vivec City. Even in the upper levels of the cantons there is a sense of being indoors. Travelling by spells, be they my own or the guild guides there is no chance to feel the dirt underfoot, breathe open air, see the sky and far vistas. Today I made up for that by strolling the countryside between Pelagiad and Balmora. I wanted to adjust to heavy armor again as well as practice my alteration magic, specifically water breathing. I am becoming quite adept. Much of the countryside in the Ascadian Isles region being underwater gave me many opportunities. Walking through the depths in heavy armor is a much slower way to travel than teleportation, but I arrived in Balmora with a fair sack of pearls gathered in passing from the Kallops of the lakebeds.

In Balmora I had dinner with Caius. It took an effort to pull him away from his books and notes. Finally I said "Something may be revealed in discussion that could be read over a dozen times." We dined on fresh mudcrab and nix hound steaks that I had gathered during my hike. I don't know if anything revealed by our discussion will prove important or not, but it gave me a chance to get more familiar with the mysterious spymaster, and gave him a break from his endless studying. He has not yet determined where to send me next, but we agreed I should take the time to get familiar with more of the island.

"Have you heard of a book called 'The Pilgrim's Path'?" he asked.

"I think I saw it in Jobasha's Rare Bookstore," I replied. "Am I remembering correctly; he said it was a temple book?"

"That's the one. It recounts the seven graces of Vivec. There are shrines, and initiates of the temple make pilgimages to them representing these seven graces. I've been thinking about the temple; and you. The Tribunal Temple has no tolerance for the Nerevarine Cult. They have even less tolerance for anyone claiming to be the Nerevarine. I think there are some in the temple who would just as soon round up everyone born on the specified day, have a big bonfire and roast them all. That would include you. And the further along this path we go, the more inclined they will be to have at least a small fire and roast you."

"Thanks Caius. When you brought me here that was part of the plan I assume. Looking forward to grilling nix hound on a spit at the big occassion?"

He chuckled. "No lad, I never intended for it to get that far. At the time the whole Nerevarine question was just...sort of out there. Now I'm starting to think it all makes sense. Gone native a bit maybe. At any rate, I don't want to see you get tossed in a fire by the Ordinators. There's a bit of wisdom I've picked up in my years of service. Know your friends well, and your enemies better. The temple may well become dangerous enemies. It may serve you well to learn more about them."

"So you think I should do these pilgrimages?"

"It wouldn't hurt. Make some friends in the temple. Might accidently come to know some of these disidents, or some that might become disidents. And the pilgrimages will take you into parts of Vvardenfell you've not yet seen. Things are cooling off here in Balmora with the Hlaalu, but Feldrelo Sadri over at the temple doesn't like you much. Might help with that as well. Since she is in charge here in Balmora she is not a good enemy to have."

I went back to the guild hall and took transport to Ald-ruhn. I don't have 'The Pilgrim's Path' in my collection. Tomorrow I will visit the temple here and pick up a copy.

_**Day Seventy-one: Humility**_

This morning I joined the Temple and began the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces. Tuls Valen, the senior priest at the temple in Ald-ruhn accepted me warmly. Hopefully I can impress him and build enough of a reputation in the temple to get past the ill will in Balmora. I don't know how good a start today was.

The first of the seven graces is humility. There is a shrine at a place called the Fields of Kummu. Kummu was a farmer. Upon the death of his guar he could not work his fields, and without the harvest he could not afford a replacement for the guar. Kummu and his family were facing starvation when Vivec, the warrior poet, happened upon them. Kummu believed that his plea to his ancestors had somehow been answered, and Vivec, to honor the ancestors, resolved to help the farmer. Rather than just buying a new guar, which he obviously could have done, Vivec humbled himself and joined the farmer in his fields to take in the harvest. I personally suspect the farmer would rather have had a new guar, but that is neither here nor there.

The Shrine of Vivec's Humility turns out to be on the shore of lake Amaya, not far from Pelagiad. I thought that was an excellent turn, and was planning to use my recall spell to come home when Tuls Valen pointed out that the truly humble would not shortcut the pilgrimage by magically flitting about. I wanted to point out that the Ald-ruhn temple is a lot further from Lake Amaya than Vivec City or Balmora, and I could just as easily have started my pilgrimage from either of those much handier temples, but...humility. I trudged up the dusty hill to the southeast of Ald-ruhn muttering to myself.

The first thing I learned from being a pilgrim is that a straight line might be the shortest distance, but not necessarily the quickest path. There is a road from Ald-ruhn to Caldera, and on to Balmora. The road heads west from Ald-ruhn before winding south, skirting the foothills of Red Mountain. I am a Journeyman in the Blades exploring Vvardenfell, I will not be confined to the roads. I am a Conjurer in the Mage's Guild, I can levitate over otherwise impassable ridges. Humility was clearly lacking.

By noon I was hot and miserable in my heavy armor. Despite floating over the steepest and rockiest passages I had climbed numerous hills, raising clouds of dusty ash that inevitably found their way inside my armor. The grey landscape, barren except for the thorny trama vines that writhe across the gritty surface, depressed my spirits. In the distance to the east I could see the shimmer of the towering ghostfence. The blight contained behind it added to the oppression. As I crossed yet another ridge a shear drop yawned at my feet, and I recognized the mighty Foyada Mamaca. I abandoned the straight line approach to pilgrimages. The bottom of the deep foyada would offer shade, and would take me down the slopes of Red Mountain into the lush greens of the Ascadian Isles without further climbing. Arrogance had given way to convenience. Humility was still distant, but waiting.

The path along the bottom of the Foyada was all that I had hoped it would be, though I was beset by swarms of cliff racers. These rapacious predators diving from the walls kept me alert, until I reached a huge Daedric ruin that clots the foyada. There my alertness failed me. It wasn't a diving cliff racer that escaped my notice, but something far worse.

As I approached the ruins I couldn't miss the glow of a flame atronach. The elemental monster stalked the ruins, trailing smoke as bits of grass and trama vine smoldered in its wake. I activated my amulet, blending into the chaotic patterns etched into the stone. The powerful chameleon spell and the atronach's sense of its own power made it easy to sneak up behind it with my conjured spear at the ready. I put everything I had behind a mighty thrust, squarely into the mass of flames between the broad shoulders. The atronach pitched forward into a mass of trama vine, which instantly burst into flame. I struck swiftly to finish the beast before it could launch the blistering jets of flame that are the favorite weapon of these visitors from the elemental planes.

That was when my lack of alertness nearly finished me. Having just speared the atronach in the back I cannot complain of the tactics. The thin whistle of a blade through the air came a split second before the blow, but gave no useful warning. The mighty Daedric axe shattered steel and bone, crushing my shoulder and ribs and driving me headlong into the arms of the atronach writhing on my spear. The stench of burning flesh invaded my senses as agony blackened my vision.

Long ago in High Rock my father took me to an alchemist's shop and bought a potion. The potion binds the mystical energy of a recall spell. He told me to always keep the small vial handy on my belt, for quick escapes. I picked up a vial in Balmora shortly after my arrival. In my arrogance lately I have considered many times giving up the habit of carrying it. My skills have grown, I can cast a recall spell reliably enough. My spear has slain innumerable horrors. I thought I was beyond the need for quick escapes, but I kept the vial; my father's voice haunting me over the vast distance and time. I thank him tonight for my life.

Thankfully my mate has the abilities and demeanor to have reached a high rank in the theive's guild. She was certainly startled when I appeared in the hall shattered and afire, but with feline grace she swept a blanket over me to put out the flames, then doused me with water from the mop bucket to cool the glowing oven of my steel breastplate. Whether she used spells or poured magical restoratives down my throat I don't know, but she pulled me back from the brink of death far enough for me to activate my own healing magic. Soon the wounds were reduced to angry scars, and the burned off hair will grow back, but the memory of that shattering blow will be with me always. Tomorrow I will complete the pilgrimage to the Shrine of Humility. I may not have walked the entire distance, but I will have traveled a long course.

_**Day Seventy-two: Fields of Kummu**_

I completed the pilgrimage today. The shrine stands in a beautiful area along the north shore of Lake Amaya. One of the local farm products is muck, harvested from the muck sponges along the shore. Though it does not look very appealing, and the name is certainly not appetizing, it is a staple and properly prepared adds to many dishes. Since the harvest that Vivec assisted Kummu with was the muck harvest it was appropriate to leave an offering of muck at the base of the shrine. The blessing of the shrine left me feeling lightened of my burdens all day. My return trip to Ald-ruhn was completed with a bouncing step.

Tuls Valen welcomed me back at the temple. "The pilgrimage has served you well Arvil Bren. The blessing of Vivec eases your burdens, and the virtue of humility enfolds you. You have learned well." I told him about the Daedric shrine, and my experiences in the Foyada Mamaca. He says I will have to pass that ruin on my pilgrimage to the Ghostfence Shrine, and suggested that it would be a service to other pilgrims if I sent the Daedric guardians back to their own planes. While vengeance is not a virtue, in this case it may serve a purpose.

My next pilgrimage is to the Shrine of Stop the Moon. Sheogorath of the bad Daedra, in battle with Lord Vivec, hurled the moon Baar Dau from its orbit to crush Vivec's palace. Vivec stopped the moon in its fall, and it hovers still over the city it would have destroyed, serving the Ordinators as the Ministry of Truth, the temple prison. I must journey to the shrine and offer a potion of levitation in honor of this feat. My new learned humility is already under test. I will walk to Vivec from Ald-ruhn, without consideration that had I taken on this quest from the Temple in the High Fane of Vivec the pilgrimage would be nothing more than walking outside to the shrine.

As I was about to leave the temple Tuls Valen stopped me. He didn't use magica or grab me, but his words rooted me to the floor. "I've asked around a little about you. There is more to you than meets the eye. What do you know about the Nerevarine prophecies?" I turned slowly to face him, considering how best to make my escape should he consign me to prison or execution. No Ordinators were in evidence, and I wondered if I could overpower him. As the temple's ranking member in one of Vvardenfell's largest cities I suspect he would be a powerful foe.

Fortunately I said the right thing, which was nothing, and he proceeded to sketch out the basics of the prophecy, all of which I already knew. "I am telling you all of this since I don't consider you a mere layman, in fact you would be better called a novice of the temple, and I have a task that suits your...unique skills. A false incarnate of Nerevar has appeared in Suran. With the attention that the Empire is turning on the prophecies we are hesitant to have the Ordinators seize this pretender. From what I've heard from Edwinna over at the Mage's Guild you have some experience in handling...delicate matters. On your way to Vivec I want you to visit Suran and find this 'Nerevarine' and convince him that he is not what he claims."

My reputation for handling 'delicate matters' in the Mage's Guild had to come from Ranis in Balmora, so I hesitated before asking the obvious question. I didn't want to hear the obvious answer. "How would I go about convincing him that he isn't who he thinks he is?"

"Well, you are a persuasive and resourceful fellow Arvil Bren. I'm sure you'll think of something. If nothing else, the Nerevarine can't die, so you could prove him false by just killing him." How did I know that was coming?

_**Day Seventy-three: Ghostgate surprise**_

Well, this is certainly not where I expected to be tonight; in a Redoran run hostel in the Tower of Dusk at Ghostgate. Ghostgate, which is the only passage through the ghostfence around Red Mountain, is flanked by two towers; this one and the Tower of Dawn. The Redorans provide services in this tower, which houses a branch of temple soldiers called the Buoyant Armigers, while Ordinators and temple functionaries throng the opposite tower. Temple functionaries, including my current traveling companion.

I met Viatrix Petilia this morning. She was waiting for me in the entry room of the guild hall. Without courtesy or preamble she said "I understand you know a path into the Foyada Mamaca. I need to be in Ghostgate in two days. Urgent temple business." She reached down and hefted her light pack onto her shoulder.

She had to have come from Tuls Valen. Clearly he would not have sent her if it wasn't important to him that she reach Ghostgate. I could reach Ghostgate in a day. Could this foppishly dressed lady keep the pace? I had no way of knowing. Could I protect her from the gauntlet of cliff racers and other monsters we would have to run? I had no way to know that either. Little did I know that the biggest challenge would be not abandoning the acid tongued, arrogant agent to be taken to mate by some free ranging kagouti. I might have done it, but I am too sympathetic to the dumb animals.

Throughout the day, at every pause to let her catch up, she would greet me with "Hurry up! I told you I don't have time to waste." Every battle with cliff racer, kagouti, wild guar, or shalk beetle I would have to heal her wounds, as she refused to stay out of the way. "You were taking too long and I'm in a hurry," she would say to my suggestions that she let me handle the creatures. She had time to complain, but never time to say thank you as I expended my magica healing her. Of course she never noticed how the battles slowed down once she came within range and I had to concentrate on protecting her as well as myself. By the time we reached the steep wall of the foyada my commitment to whatever urgent temple business she carried was stretched thin.

"Listen!" I said. "I've protected you all morning, and put up with your complaints. The business of the temple is your passport, and I'm willing to be your guide, but I could honestly report that I did my part even if you slide down this slope and break your neck. I could even say I had done my part if the slide started with me pitching you over the edge. Who's to know? Now either shut up or say thank you, your choice, but whichever you choose make it a choice that lasts out the day." I don't know how I will look in her reports, but at least the rest of the day was passed in sullen but blessed silence.

When we arrived we entered the Tower of Dawn. She is settled in quarters maintained for visiting temple members and pilgrims. In the morning I will escort her to the Ghostgate shrine, which is inside the Ghostfence, and then thankfully take my leave of her. I opted to stay in the Redoran hostel. Neither tower seemed big enough for both the agent and myself. It turned out to be a good choice.

Rather than getting quietly drunk in the bar I ended up enjoying the company. This tower, as I said, is the base of the Buoyant Armigers. I went to the bar expecting to find stuffy temple bureaucrats and even stuffier Ordinators, but the armigers are not at all like their opposing branch. They face the constant pressure of Red Mountain with a quick wit and a hearty laugh, and enjoy their off duty time to the fullest. It was a pleasant evening, and tomorrow I will have my full wits about me for the sojourn inside the Ghostfence rather than dragging the hangover I expected. Dragging Viatrix will be bad enough.

_**Day Seventy-four: Fooled only once**_

Once again my pilgrimage has been augmented by my recall spell. With the extra errands assigned along the way I don't feel bad about that. This time it wasn't due to a near death experience, I was just so laden down that I could barely walk. I don't feel bad about that either.

This morning I was enjoying breakfast at the Redoran hostel, picking up what I could as some Buoyant Armigers swapped stories, when the shrill voice of Viatrix Petilia rang through the room. "Arvil Bren! What are you doing! I need to get to the shrine!" I took a last sorrowful look at my half eaten omelet, grabbed a slice of toast laden with scrib jelly and followed her out.

"You told me you wanted to get here in two days, I got you here in one. I don't expect gratitude, but you could have let me finish my breakfast in peace," I grumbled around a mouthful.

"You and your breakfast are not my concern," she snapped, but thankfully after that she resumed yesterday's sullen silence.

We passed through the ghostgate and followed the short path to the shrine. I stood guard as she made her offerings and led her back. She received a blessing from Vivec's shrine, I got mine at the gate when we parted company. I wonder if Tuls inflicted this shrew on me as a test of my newfound humility. More likely he was just glad someone could escort her to a place far away, and hopes she will not find escort back.

Free of my traveling companion I sped down the bottom of the foyada. The cliff racers gave me numerous opportunities to practice with my shortsword and shield. While I have gotten very adept at spearing them out of the air, the lack of reach of the shortsword calls for entirely different stratagems. Blocking the lancing tail as it strikes, while slicing at the buffeting wings with the blade eventually wears the beasts down. Enough rips in the membrane of the wings and they settle slowly into range of the sword. Not as efficient, but if I am to shed my reputation as a spearman first, mage second, I will need to get used to the less obtrusive weaponry.

I made no pretense when I reached the Daedric ruins. I conjured a spear and held it at the ready as I activated my amulet and melted into the shadows. This time I intended to get a full lay of the land before charging into battle, but if I got caught it would not be without my most lethal weapon in hand.

The vast ruin sprawls up the southeast side of the foyada, but I confined my initial search to the lower pavilions. In my previous encounter I apparently did severe damage to the flame atronach. In his place an even more powerful storm atronach paced, sparks crackling along the surface of the thick cloud that gives substance to its humanoid form. I skirted the area carefully, and spotted the dremora leaning in the shadows. The daedric armor blended well with the swirling engraving of the ruin. Its flat black color suited the shadows almost as well as my own powerful chameleon spell.

The dremora are without substance in our plane; basically appearing as an animated suit of Daedric armor. When slain, the armor dematerializes back to the plane of the Daedra, but the spirit of the Dremora is frequently bound into their weapons, leaving them trapped in this solid inanimate form. Daedric weapons are highly prized for their keen edges, durability, and their capacity for enchantment. They are heavy, but extraordinarily valuable. If I could find someone who could afford them I could be hugely wealthy as I have gathered quite a collection, much of it today. I don't know if this dremora was the same one that struck me down, armed with a different weapon, or if the axe wielder had retired to his own plane to be replaced by this figure, which stood stock still with a mighty warhammer at port arms across its chest. Same one or different, this one would pay the price.

I again struck from behind. An atronach has no sense of honor, or mercy, or anything else. They are a conjuration embodying the elemental violence of their plane of origin, and to assign them any human values is to court death. Before striking I cast my most powerful defensive spells, and conjured a fresh spear, then gulped down most of a jug of sujamma. Though it dulled my wits, the potent liquor swelled the strength of my arms, and I drove the spear through the monster in one shattering blow that scattered wisps of cloud onto the hot wind blowing down from Red Mountain. This time I did not pause to survey my handiwork.

I did pause, but only for the carefully timed moment I had planned. I stepped forward into the swirl of dissipating cloud, holding my spear loosely in one hand and unlimbering my shield with the other. I did not put my arm through its straps, just pulled it off of my back. I knew the dremora would be closing on the now even less protected target, but the gleaming steel of my shield served a better purpose in my hand. I appeared to be looking down into the remains of the shattered elemental. I was actually watching the dremora's stealthy approach, reflected in the shield.

The great circular swing of the Daedric hammer would have ended the battle, crumpling my steel armor like paper. Would have, but once that great weight was committed to its arc I dropped to my knees and pitched forward, rolling into my own swiping blow. There was not much behind it, but with the dremora being dragged around by its own attack it was enough to knock it off its feet, the hammer thudding into the sandy floor of the foyada. As the spirit scrambled to regain its footing and its weapon I disrupted it further by flinging my shield as I rose. When I was first learning how to fight the drillmaster would scream at us 'first afoot carries the day'. He would repeatedly knock us down as we tried to stumble to our feet. I hated that old man then, but I would thank him today. I was first afoot, and pinned the thrashing dremora to the ground with a mighty thrust through its middle. Two powerful foes defeated, and I was unscathed.

I gathered my shield and turned at the sound of claws scrabbling over stone. In light of what I had just done the appearance of the scamp struck me as more comical than threatening. Perhaps it was the sujamma still clouding my senses. The small Daedric servant did catch me a nasty scratch with its claws before my shortsword sent it into a panicked frenzy, but after the atronach and dremora the battle was an anticlimax. Afterward I explored the rest of the ruins, finding the door to the shrine and no additional guardians. I half dragged and half carried the mighty hammer to the door. I have no idea what I will do with it, but it is far to valuable to have been left to be buried in the blowing sands.

Inside the shrine my spells served well. A brief area of silence and a vicious spear thrust from the concealment of my amulet's chameleon spell felled the guard without raising alarm. The cult's leader, taken by surprise, fell quickly, her netch leather armor shredded by the conjured spear before their other guardian dremora could reach the fray. The creature stood over its fallen master scanning the surroundings, but my amulet kept me hidden long enough to strike again. The dremora was quickly reduced to a mighty Daedric two handed sword, which clanged to the stone floor.

My appearance in her hallway was no less surprising to Ahnassi this time, but the awesome treasures I clutched in my hands did not have exactly the same effect as my former blazing arrival. The cult had accumulated quite the arsenal; hugely valuable, but mostly of no use to me. The exception being an ebony shortsword. Though not on a par with Daedric weaponry it is vastly superior to steel. I will have to think of some suitable enchantments for it.

_**Day Seventy-five: The false incarnate**_

This morning I completed the short remaining pilgrimage to the Shrine of Daring. It was the last walking of the day. The blessing of the shrine is a very powerful spell, similar to my own levitation spell but allowing for much faster flight. It lasted the rest of the day, all the way back to Ald-ruhn, and served me well in my mission to Suran.

Having made my offering and received my blessing I set off to Suran, a small city on the shore of Lake Amaya, not far from the Shrine of Humility. I had considered taking a silt strider, as the caravaners have a direct route from the strider port in Vivec City, but flying was even more direct; and exhilarating! The rolling hills, bays and inlets, and lush plantations of the Ascadian Isles unrolled beneath me. I found the city easily, and floated down into the courtyard of the local temple. I'm sure my obvious arrival was noted, and immediately gossiped all over town.

Before I became the rumor topic I needed to get information about the previous sensation of the moment; the latest Nerevarine. In some ways I actually hoped he would be the real thing; solve the problem of me possibly being the Nerevarine once and for all. Elynu Seren at the temple gave me little cause for hope as she expressed complete disdain for Elvil Vedron. She directed me to the public square in the northern end of town. I went to see for myself, though I left Elynu no reason to think I was not in complete agreement with the official temple position that this common man could not be the reincarnation of Nerevar.

Leaving the temple I soared into the air once more. As I cleared the buildings ringing the square I could hear the strident shouting. "Red Mountain spews ash and blight! Sleepers return to gather at the house! The time of the Incarnate is at hand!" Passers by mostly seemed to be ignoring him, and the Hlaalu guard who stood in the shade nearby looked on impassively. House Hlaalu are not the most devout followers of temple doctrine, to say the least. The very ordinary looking Dunmer stopped his tirade abruptly as I settled in front of him. "Outlander!" he hissed. "When I have reunited my people you and your kind will be cast from our shores forever!"

"Elvil, be reasonable. Your people do not look to be thronging around you. It takes more than a loud voice and the right birthday to be the Nerevarine."

"What do you know of the prophecy, outlander?"

"I know enough that the temple sent me for you instead of a squad of Ordinators to toss you into a fire."

"The temple sent me an outlander so I can begin driving them from our lands." His hand went to the hilt of his dagger. "Slaying you will draw the believers to me."

"Slaying me will draw that guard over here to throw you in prison. That would be the end of you as the Nerevarine, if you managed to slay me. Much more likely you would be proven to be a false incarnate when I painted this square with your blood." The gleaming ebony blade of my shortsword sparkled in the sunlight. "I could gut you and fly away before the guard even drew his weapon. The leader of a Daedric cult owned this sword yesterday, until she died at my hand. She seemed far more deadly than you. Are you really so sure you are the incarnate that you will put your life on the line? Hand off your dagger Elvil, I don't want to kill you, but have no doubt that I will."

Since arriving in Vvardenfell I have lost count of the number that I've slain. Warriors and witches, undead spirits, Daedric servants; it has left me marked. It shows in my eyes. The professed incarnate looked deep, and saw the truth. His hand fell away from the dagger. "The time of the incarnate is at hand outlander, but you have shown that it is not me. I will be chastened, but I will return to the temple." He walked away; a broken young man. I was not proud of what I had done, but I had spared his life. The Ordinators would not have I'm sure.

I flew on to Ald-ruhn. The Ascadian Isles quickly gave way to the wasted Ashlands, and my flight was beset with cliff racers. Soaring through their own element brought them in droves, and I vented my anger on the hapless beasts. Their vicious nature and command of the air makes them the bane of travelers throughout Vvardenfell, especially in the vastness of the Ashlands where they swarm, but they were ill prepared for a stout sword that could be brought to bear directly at their own level. With the delays it took me far into the night before I arrived over Ald-ruhn to settle exhausted in front of the guild hall. Tomorrow will be soon enough to report to Tuls Valen at the temple.

_**Day Seventy-six: What does it all mean?**_

I am again overwhelmed with assignments. I am spending the night at Surane Leoriane's house in Caldera. She tells me word is out among the Blades; Caius wants to see me. I considered taking the guild guide to Balmora tonight, but opted to take the opportunity to catch up with Surane. The ring of smugglers and Cammona Tong thugs that I broke up near Hla Oad do seem to tie back to House Hlaalu and the Caldera Mining Company, but the connections are still not clear. I wish I could repay Surane's hospitality by doing some investigating. My amulet of shadows and relative anonymity in Caldera would allow me some latitude that Surane does not have. I have no time right now though. Even without knowing what Caius has in mind I can guess it will have me busy. Busier than I am already.

My newfound interest in the temple is not sitting well with everyone in the Mage's Guild. Ranis sent word to Ald-ruhn, saying that if I had time to take the pilgrimages I had time for more duties. I will need to check in with her in Balmora tomorrow also. Edwinna gave me that bit of news, and threw in a task of her own besides. An expedition doing research in a Dwemer ruin is supposed to send her regular reports, and they are overdue. She gave me brief directions to the ruin and went back to her research before I could swallow the bite of kwama egg I was chewing. I wouldn't refuse her anyway, but it would be nice to be allowed to accept. Whatever task Ranis has, I'm sure refusing her isn't an option either. Having delivered numerous 'or die' messages for her I'm sure turning down her assignments would be considered high treason punishable by death. I will have to balance my guild duties with the pilgrimages. I am learning valuable information about the temple, so I don't want to quit them.

Tuls Valen was very pleased with my report from Suran. While he is the ranking temple priest in Ald-ruhn, the remoteness of the posting indicates he is not a loud voice in the temple hierarchy. The virtues exemplified in the pilgrimages seem to operate very powerfully in his life. At the same time, he does follow orders. It was precisely the remoteness of Ald-ruhn that saddled him with the task of dealing with Elvil Vedron, the false incarnate, without attracting Imperial attention. He was glad to have that business handled, but did not seem to really understand why the temple is making such a big deal about the Nerevarine Prophecies. He was very glad no blood had been spilled, though I get the impression those above him would have cared less. The simple virtues of the local temples are certainly good, but I wonder how far they extend upwards into the leadership of the temple as a whole. My next pilgrimage is again to Vivec City, to the Shrine of Generosity, at the doors of the Palace of Vivec himself. I think that as part of this trip I will make a visit to the High Fane, the governing center for the temple throughout Vvardenfell.

I took my time on the road sorting all this through today. It was noon before I was ready to leave Ald-ruhn anyway, so I made it a leisurely march to Caldera rather than trying to rush the pilgrimage, or my other tasks. I will depart early in the morning and should reach Balmora by noon. I could take the guild guide, but I'm still not ready to hurry. My various task masters will just have to be patient. If I am the reincarnation of Nerevar, how could there be so many people in positions to tell me what to do?

_**Day Seventy-seven: The Altmer scholar**_

I rose this morning and hurried to Balmora. I opted against using the guild guide for transport, because I wanted to meet with Caius before seeing Ranis at the guild hall. He appreciated the effort, but agreed that I should keep up with my duties to maintain my cover. My other tasks will carry me back to Ald-ruhn in due time, and that is where my next mission for Caius lies.

That settled, I went to the guild hall, arriving in time for lunch. As it turns out my arrival was perfectly timed for Ranis, who immediately pulled me into her office. "Arvil! Well met, conjurer! I'm glad you got here when you did. It gives me a chance to talk to you privately. Itermerel will be returning shortly though, so we need to be quick!." I didn't ask any questions, figuring that was the quickest way to get all the information. I was right. Itermerel is an Altmer, and a scholar. He was having lunch at the Eight Plates. He needed an escort to Pelagiad. That was the basics. Nothing there that had to be said before he got back. Then came the key piece of Ranis' assignment. "He has notes on his research. I want them. I don't care if he makes it to Pelagiad or not, but I want those notes."

I met Itermerel when he got back from lunch. Like all Altmer he is tall and very thin, with a yellow tinge to his skin and a connection to magica that gives him a ready command of spellcraft but leaves him vulnerable to it in turn. Unlike many Altmer he is very personable. Before we had passed the city gates we were chatting amiably about the wildlife of Vvardenfell and the road ahead. A small corner of my mind was already cursing Ranis and her assignment, then things got worse.

We weren't more than a hundred yards from the gate when a nix hound charged up the bank from the Odai River. I fired a quick shot from my bow that struck home, but was not really necessary. Itermerel had launched a fireball that reduced the rampaging monster to a charred hulk. Just letting him die from the challenges of travel in Vvardenfell disappeared into the dustbin of forgotten ideas. Clearly, if he was going to have to die for me to get his notes it would have to be me that killed him. Having seen the devastating effect of that fireball I wasn't really sure I could, even if I wanted to.

I began digging through my mind for an alternative. Pelagiad is my home ground. He plans to stay for at least some time at the Halfway Tavern. Ahnassi could steal the notes. That seemed workable. Then an even better plan fell into place. Actually it was well along before I even recognized that it was working.

After the scorching of the nix hound we resumed the trek. I commented on the effectiveness of his spell, and that opened a floodgate. Five minutes later the scholar paused to apologize. "I'm sorry for lecturing my friend. It is just that so few people are interested in my work. I took your simple question about my enhanced fireball and was off racing you through a full analysis of oblivion flows in void space. Forgive me."

I told him there was no need to apologize, and that in fact I was very interested in his work. It started out as a way to keep him talking while I thought about ways to get the notes. It took much of the afternoon before I recognized that it was the way to get his notes; a direct appeal to his scholarly ego! The march took most of the afternoon. We went the long way; down the Odai and around the badlands at the end of the Foyada Mamaca rather than cutting across. Every passing cliff racer, and even a charging Kagouti, provided laboratory demonstrations of his theories. In between he explained. Almost everything he said went far over my head, but I caught enough words that I could ask a question whenever he started to wind down. By the time we reached Pelagiad he offered to let me copy his notes as a way to improve my understanding of his theories.

We had dinner at the Halfway. Ahnassi was charming, Itermerel urbane and personable, and very complimentary to his newfound student. I brought his notes home and spent the rest of the evening copying rapidly so I can return them in the morning. For all his compliments I must admit that the whole subject is far beyond my grasp. If Ranis actually gets anything from these notes I will be impressed, and surprised.

_**Day Seventy-eight: The Shrine of Generosity**_

I enjoyed the walk into Vivec City this morning. Ahnassi was up early, and sent me off with a hearty breakfast and a stack of crab salad sandwiches for the road. The rising sun glittering off the surface of the many lakes and bays of the Ascadian Isles was glorious. Netch floated on the clear air, and light breezes ruffled through the trees. It was the kind of morning that makes me glad to be in Morrowind, just for the beauty of it. I sat on the shore near the bridge into the foreign quarter and ate my lunch, contemplating the Seven Graces that my pilgrimages represent; so far humility, daring, generosity. I even tossed some crumbs of crab meat to a passing slaughterfish.

In the High Fane, the greatest Temple in all of Vvardenfell, I did not see much of the graces. The priests, dressed in their finery and bustling about, seemed to have little time for me. The air was filled with politics; the behind the scenes maneuvering for position, the finding of the safe path to a tolerable end, the commitment to what will be accepted rather than what seems right. I asked a couple of functionaries if they would be interested in taking the climb up the steps of the palace to the Shrine of Generosity, and was told they had made their donations and I should get on with my pilgrimage. The average Dunmer is ever aware of the watchful eye of their departed ancestors. The priests of the High Fane do not seem very concerned with the virtues of their living god in his palace. I climbed the long stair and made my offering.

As I descended the long staircase I looked at my own relationship to the Tribunal Temple. I joined to find out about what is bound to become my enemy if I am the Nerevarine, and the more I see of the Temple leadership the more it seems that they will have no remorse about that. For my part though I am seeing a lot of good in the temple. I followed through on my plan today, and left another offering at the Shrine of Daring that gave me another round of the powerful levitation blessing and sped me on my way. I think that is the last time. Something about reducing the shrines to the level of a simple vendor selling blessings doesn't sit well.

It certainly came in handy though. I am sleeping tonight in a hammock within the Dwemer ruin of Nehuleftingth, a guest of Senilius Cadiusus, leader of the expedition. The ruin is deep in the region known as Molag Mar, and I cannot even guess how long it would have taken to walk here. I also have to say that the atronachs roaming the hills would have presented much more of a danger had I been on foot. Hovering in the air knocking them down with arrows may not have been fair, but dispatching these elemental constructs back to the planes from which they sprang is a service to all travelers.

Senilius says that the excavation report is overdue because it was lost with his colleague, Anes Vendu. Anes had been working in a chamber called the Hall of Pattern, and Senilius thinks he found an access to the lower levels. In the morning I will examine this Hall of Pattern and see if I can find a way to follow.

_**Day Seventy-nine: Depths of Nehuleftingth**_

Senilius Cadiusus is a fine scholar, but I would not choose him to lead an expedition. The traits that make a good scholar do not necessarily make a good leader. This morning he showed me the great hall known as 'Test of Pattern'. You would never have guessed that his colleague and friend was lost, or that he felt in any way responsible as the leader of the expedition.

Great machinery groaned throughout the hall, steam wisping from joints in the intricate piping. Three alcoves spaced along the left side of the hall held great boilers, heated by some unknown process. On the end of each boiler was a large handcrank.

"What happens if you turn these cranks?" I asked.

"I don't know. We have been trying to decipher these runes, but haven't had much luck," he replied.

"Well, Anes was in this room when he disappeared. These cranks are just like the one at the entrance to Arkngthand. He must have used one of them to open a passage to the lower levels, and now he is stuck there. Why haven't you gone after him?" I must admit, my voice was rising. I could not imagine why no one had tried to help the lost Anes Vendu.

"This is complex machinery," he said with disdain. "One cannot just start turning cranks and making adjustments."

"A man's life is at stake! You are the leader of this expedition! You can't just sit on your hands!" I was wrong. That is exactly what he had been doing, and planned to continue doing. With a great huffing sigh he turned to stalk back to his camp. I quickly grabbed the nearest crank and spun it violently. The cloud of steam that burst forth burnt me severely, but at least the edge of it scalded that pompous fool as well. "Well, that didn't work," I said as I activated the healing enchantment in my shield. Senilius sputtered with rage, but I really had no use for anything he had to say.

The results at the second crank were very much like the first, and again my healing shield restored me, but the third and final crank turned with effect. A large section of the opposite stone wall pivoted inward, revealing a stair. Footprints in the thick dust revealed that this was indeed the direction taken by the lost researcher. They led down. None came back up. At the bottom of the stair stood a typical Dwemer round steel door. It was shut. "Follow those tracks and I'm sure you will find your friend," I said coldly.

"That level is unexplored. We need a support team. You will have to report to Edwinna..." He saw my face and his voice trailed off.

"I will be reporting to Edwinna, but I wouldn't count on her assigning you any more men. You haven't shown the slightest interest in taking care of the team you have. Case in point, it is clear as glass that I'm going to have to go down there and find out if Anes Vendu is alive, and keep him that way if he is. You would leave him there to starve with a sprained ankle." I stomped down the stairs without bothering to see if he was following. He didn't.

I seriously doubted that Anes would be lying around with something as minor as a sprained ankle, but I was hoping. The faint hope expired as I slipped through the steel door. The hallway on the other side of the door was free of dust. I suppose the Dwemer centurions keep things tidy when they don't have interlopers to kill. The passage opened into a chamber lined with a double row of columns. Between the columns I could see that the hall continued on the other side. The ruddy glow of a lava pit shone in the distance, illuminating two pacing centurions. I crouched in the shadowy corner and watched.

These centurions were neither spider like nor rolling spheres. They walked like men, but where there would have been a right hand there hung a huge ball of gleaming Dwemer metal, studded with spikes. That metal ball was bigger than a man's head, and I estimated it to weigh hundreds of pounds. They paced back and forth, each turning its great metal head to look down the passage as they passed. Steam oozed from their joints. Occasionally one would pause to raise its great mace, like a flexing of great metallic muscles. The mighty ball would spring outward on some sort of extension of the arm, then retract; like a punching fist. I crept down the hall, trying to ignore the shakiness in my knees.

One of the centurions spotted me, and turned ponderously to thunder down the hall, his companion close behind. I raced into the chamber, a conjured spear leaping into my hands. The awesome constructs were more agile than one would expect, but still somewhat limited by their great bulk. The heavy Dwemer metal shells were proof against even the magically keen edges of my spear. I jabbed at the joints of their legs, and danced away through the columns. The wisps of steam turned into spurts and streams, and oily liquid gleamed as it flowed down the metal limbs.

The damage began taking a toll on them, slowing them further, but I knew the battle would turn with one strike from their giant weapons. I raised my point, and added the massive shoulder and neck joints to my targets. Finally, with a last gushing of steam, one of the giant machines ground to a halt. Its metal face almost seemed to express puzzlement. The arm slowly extended, lowering the great weight of the mace, and the stilled form swayed slowly, rocking on its motionless feet. Then, with an immense crash, the metal carcass fell face first to the stone floor. Seeing its companion fall had no effect on the second behemoth. It continued to slash at me, the huge mace whistling through the air. Eventually it too ran out of steam and collapsed. Oil pooled around them as the great shells cooled, their internal fires extinguished.

I found Anes Vendu, dead. His dagger and magic had wrecked a sphere centurion, but he had been smashed lifeless by a bonecrushing blow. The chamber in which he lay held barrels, chests, and shelves laden with artifacts, but it appeared that his only interest had been a heavy book, bound in green cloth covers. I took the book, and the rolled excavation report from his pack, and returned to the upper levels.

Senilius demanded the book. "That is the key. That's what we were seeking. The Hanging Garden. Look, it is written in the language of the Dwemer, but translated into old Aldmeris. With this a scholar versed in Aldmeris could translate other Dwemer works."

I did not give it to him. Anes Vendu earned it. The expedition's leader did not. I hefted a Dwemer axe which will bring a good price from Mebestian, and clutched the book as I cast my recall spell. I'm sure I will find a more suitable scholar.

_**Day Eighty: Literate Ashlander**_

I left early this morning, though leaving Ahnassi is difficult. Too many loose ends to be wrapped up, and my next assignment from Caius was pressing. I used an intervention spell and teleported to the temple in Balmora as dawn was breaking over the city.

Ranis was not up and about when I passed through the guild hall, which was fine. I left the notes she wanted with Ajira and hurried to Caius' house to share breakfast. He filled me in on the Ashlander he wanted found. Hassour Zainsubani was born in the Ashlands, but left to become a trader. A wealthy trader, as it turns out. When I got to Ald-ruhn I started asking around among the local merchants. Zainsubani gets products from the Ashlands that most traders cannot get, or at least have to pay premium prices for. He is a fair man, and does not exploit them, but he is able to deal effectively with the Ashlanders where no one else can. The more I heard about him the more I looked forward to meeting him.

I had taken the guild guide transport to Ald-ruhn, so my first stops were in the guild hall. The Ashlanders who are learning to read at the school there were a great help. I asked them about Ashlander customs, and how I as a stranger should approach the trader. They told me about the Ashlander gift customs. When a stranger wants to do business, he shows the depth of his interest by bringing a gift. The quality and effectiveness of the gift is not measured by its value. It depends on how the gift fits the recipient. A stranger who is willing to research his subject and learn their likes and dislikes and what would suit their needs will be well received.

Before setting out into the city I gave the excavation report from Nehuleftingth to Edwinna. I also told her about my own impressions of Senilius Cadiusus. She was saddened by the news of Anes Vendu's death, but excited about the book and the possibilities of translation that it represents. The book is safe in my room until a suitable scholar can be found.

To present the right gift the first thing I wanted to know about Zainsubani was where to find him. Caius had suggested he would probably be known around the Ald Skar Inn, and as usual he was right. The trader not only frequents the inn, he actually has a permanent room there. The proprietor was happy to talk to me, being as there was little business at the early hour. "A fine man, Zainsubani," he said. "Picked his own self up, right out of the Ashlands. Taught himself to read before the Mage's Guild set up their fancy school, then taught himself all about business. Since he speaks their language and knows their ways he does a lot of business with the Ashlanders. And he takes care of his own. Truth be told he provides most of the provisions for the kitchen here at great prices, and never sniffs for a break on the fair rent I charge."

The lone morning patron chuckled aloud. "Old Hassour wouldn't pay the rent if it wasn't fair Boderi. He'd be back in an Ashland yurt before he'd pay more than fair for a room. Now if ya charged him special for that chair he sits in readin', that he'd pay for." At that the proprietor chuckled as well. I gave the brief laugh of the outsider that sees the humor but only secondhand. I also took note to myself. A reader.

Satisfied that I would be able to find the man I was looking for once I had the gift I set out again into the streets. Various merchants confirmed what I already had heard. A hard trader, but fair; self made, with little concern for the affairs of the great houses; and an avid reader. It was hard to get them to talk about Zainsubani though. It seemed they were mostly interested in talking about Ienas Sarandas.

The Sarandas family, I learned, has been a pillar of the Ald-ruhn community for a long time. Their solid reputation and accumulated estate had fallen into the care of Ienas, a charming and likeable lad by all accounts, upon the recent death of his parents. By all accounts...not the ideal phrase to use when speaking about young Ienas. More than a couple of the local merchants openly asked if I would be willing, for a fee, to collect from Ienas monies that he had failed to pay for goods purchased on account. I noticed that the goods were all of the finest quality. If he had just spent the money he put as down payment he could have bought usable items outright. As one merchant put it 'dresses like a lord and not a drake for a meal'. I felt sorry for the young man, but agreed to help the merchants recover their goods.

I found Ienas at home. The house was a bit disheveled, but he welcomed me warmly. He is a good hearted sort, but not wise. He didn't even seem to be holding a grudge as he told me the sad tale of the sure thing tips he had gotten that led him to betting heavily on the guar races. Sure things that had, for the most part, gone wrong. he had no cash to pay his debts, to the merchants or the local gambling agents. The gamblers had made their fortune from him already, and I had no sympathy for them, but the merchants had delivered their finest in good faith. Moved by my recent pilgrimage to the Shrine of Generosity I suggested to Ienas that I would be willing to buy his expensive clothing from him, paying what he had put down on it so he could have food, and I would provide him a more suitable wardrobe. He was surprised by this offer.

"An outlander, just joined in the temple, and you have the virtue of generosity so clearly," he said. "While I, who was raised in the temple, have been nothing but a fool and a drunkard." His eyes were sad, but strangely peaceful. "Arvil Bren I thank you. Keep your money, and return these fine things to the merchants with my apologies. Any money you gave me the gambling syndicate would only try to claim, or swindle me out of. I am going to donate my house to the temple and devote myself to their good works."

If we had been in Vivec City I would have doubted that the Temple was any more deserving than the gambling syndicate, but I have confidence in Tuls Valen. I am sure he will put the house to good use and set Ienas on a solid path. I returned the goods, collecting some finders fees, and went to the temple. Tuls Valen was pleased with my completion of the third pilgrimage, and the demonstrable results. I gave him the fees I had collected and told him to hold them in trust for Ienas. We talked about the next pilgrimage, but I told him it would be a while as I had Mage Guild duties to take care of.

While making the rounds of merchants I made one all important stop. The local book seller. Codus Callonus stood surrounded by books. If I were a merchant that is how I would want to do it. No stacks of hides and slabs of meat, no sweating over a blazing forge, just piles of books, reading leisurely until a customer came along. Anyway, Codus was very helpful. Apparently Zainsubani is one of his best customers. "He reads everything, fast as he can get his hands on it. He says the written word is magic and it is a sad lament that his people have turned their backs to it. Every book has magic in it to him, but what he really enjoys reading is poetry, particularly the spare poetry that speaks to the harshness of the Ashlands and the hardiness of its people."

I told him I wanted to buy a gift, and he made some recommendations. As it happens the book I chose Zainsubani already had, but he graciously pointed out the worn bindings of his old copy. "The gift was well thought out Arvil Bren," he said. "Very well thought out since you could not be expected to know Ashlander customs. What is it that I can do for you that would have you come to me this way?"

Hassour Zainsubani and I talked far into the night. He told me Ashlander customs, how they live in the harsh wastes, what I could expect from them and how I could approach them. He told me all about the Nerevarine Cult, which is actually very small and only really active in one of the four tribes. He gave me names of the leaders of the cult and told me how to find them. Whether Caius sends me or not I will be following this path. But first I have a favor to do for my new friend and benefactor.

Hassour not only told me more than I could retain about the Ashlanders, he agreed to write an outline for me. I left him to that with the impression that the notes were for me to keep everything straight, which they are. They are also to share with Caius. While he is doing this writing, I will go to Mamaca, an abandoned underground complex in the West Gash. Hassour's son went there some time ago to explore, proposing that it may be a source of ebony and other goods. It has been a while since he has sent word home, too long a while for a father. There is no reason to think Mamaca dangerous or that anything bad has befallen the very capable young man, but I will check just to ease his father's mind.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Day Eighty-one: Lost...and found**_

I spent the entire day wandering around in the West Gash. I did not find Hannat Zainsubari. I didn't even find Mamaca, the underground complex he is supposed to be investigating. I found kagouti, kwama, alit, wild guar, and an abundance of cliff racers, which is to say I found nothing of particular interest. Then late in the day I encountered a man pacing alongside one of the many twisting paths that seemed not to lead anywhere, and he gave me a good excuse.

The sun was settling very low in the west, and I was thinking there was nothing else for it but to bed down in the wilderness for the night. I was not looking forward to that. Lucan Ostorius is not someone I would want to do business with, but in this case an exception was warranted. He is a trader, and was supposed to be meeting a buyer. The obvious questions about what kind of trader meets a customer at a roadside in the middle of nowhere I left unasked. Not surprisingly, the product consisted of an assortment of quality steel weapons, and the buyer turned out to be an Orc who Lucan expected could be found at The Rat In The Pot, an unseemly tradehouse near the Fighter's Guild hall in Ald-ruhn. There were a dozen good reasons not to get involved in this deal. But I did.

The load of weapons was heavy. Not too heavy to carry, but certainly not something I would want to trudge all the way back into town with. So, one intervention spell later I was standing in the dusky twilight in the courtyard of the temple, a short walk from The Rat In The Pot, followed by dinner at the guild house and my own bed. Tomorrow I will go back and renew my search. The walk out will not take that much time away.

Late Addendum:

Despite my last line I have been pitching and turning in my bed. Smuggling weapons for Orcs and thieves wasn't why I came back to town. I came back for the comforts, disregarding that my friend's son could be suffering far greater discomfort than a night sleeping on the ground. Fortunately my conscience was keeping me awake.

Lying in my bed I heard the distinctive pop of a teleportation spell. The guild guide's platform is right down the hall from my room, but it is not that close. Someone had materialized closer; much closer; in my own room! I rolled in the darkness, pitching off the side of the bed away from the door just as the mattress erupted in a storm of feathers. I quickly cast a nighteye spell so that I could see my assailant, then upended the bed. The frame levered upward, sliding the shredded mattress into his feet, and I continued lifting until I could push the empty frame over onto the black clad assassin. My devil spear, abandoned under the bed weeks ago, leapt to hand.

The Dark Brotherhood has stepped up their efforts. This assassin was no novice. With a single slash of his wakizashi the bedframe exploded into splinters. Even in the distorted colors of the nighteye spell I recognized the gleam of a Daedric blade. I have been practicing the heavy armored styles, and close infighting of the shortblade. But my hands gripped the spear like an old friend, and the unarmored fighting styles are still my favorite. Unfortunately, the confines of the room gave the advantage to my attacker, and he struck to good effect with the vicious blade. He was obviously well versed in the Akaviri styles, using the shortbladed wakizashi to slash where a more conventional shortsword would be thrusting to bring the point to advantage.

I was bleeding profusely from a wicked gash across my chest and the situation was deteriorating rapidly when my assailant's nighteye spell ran out. He quickly gulped a potion to restore his vision, but in the brief advantage I struck with good effect, my spear point sliding off the cuff of his gauntlet and up the sleeve of the pauldron to shred his right forearm into useless meat. The heavy wakizashi clattered to the floor. His Akaviri training showed again, as he whirled into an unarmed combat mode and struck a powerful spinning kick to my wounded torso. As I well knew the light flexible mesh of his armor did nothing to hinder his movements, and hardened the already devastating impact. I fell in a heap gasping while he recovered his blade.

Scrabbling among the wreckage of the bed I flung myself into the corner by the door and threw it open. With the blade in his left hand and his right arm disabled the assassin took the swinging door with his shoulder, slowing him enough for me to roll out into the hallway and gain my feet. Outside my door is not actually a hallway. It is more of a balcony overlooking the main room one floor below. I vaulted over the railing, trusting that all my recent practice in the alteration arts would give me sufficient command to rely on my levitation spell. It worked, catching me somewhat below the balcony level, but far above the floor. As I rose I conjured a spear.

The assassin had dropped his blade once again, and his one good hand struggled with a pouch on his right hip. He never had a chance to throw the deadly ebony dart that emerged. That he would even try to throw a dart, left handed, testifies to his confidence in his marksmanship. My conjured spear struck first, piercing through the fine seam between the mask and shirt of black chain mesh. Blood gushed from the severed arteries of his throat, and he died before he hit the floor. I landed, sitting on the stone rail of the balcony, and dropped the conjured spear. Only then did I hear the shouting chaos of my fellow mages.

_**Day Eighty-two: Something to be lived with**_

Before I left Ald-ruhn this morning there were things I had to know. I found out. I don't like what I found, but it is better to know than not. The Redorans do not give the latitude to the Cammona Tong criminal syndicate that it enjoys in Hlaalu territory, but it does operate here. While none of the Dunmer merchants are openly involved there is some level of sympathy present. The tong also runs much of the gambling, and it is they who were shorted in the Sarandas affair. When the tong, who had not been paid, contacted the merchants who had, it is safe to assume that I was mentioned by one, some, or perhaps all; innocently or not.

Apparently summoned by the Cammona Tong, the assassin arrived by guild guide from Balmora. Erranil remembers him. No one realized he had stepped into my room to cast a mark spell. I can't fault them. The guild guides get a lot of traffic. The assassin was staying at the Rat In The Pot. He apparently talked about joining the Thieve's Guild, but had not. He came and went frequently, in hindsight watching the comings and goings at the guild hall; watching for me. I walked right by him while I was making my delivery. I have gotten lax.

Tonight I am sleeping in an Ashlander camp in the remote wilds of the West Gash. The three Ashlanders, who I suspect are the only others to even know of this camp, are dead. I feel sorry for them. I'm sure the spread of the blight accounts, at least in part, for their preying on unwary travelers. I could not allow my sympathies to slow my hand when they attacked however. Their corpses are rolled in their bedrolls. A marauder in the night will see four targets, not one, and I ringed the camp with trama vines. The entangling vines and thorns should snare any interloper, slowing them enough to give me warning.

Searching for Mamaca seems an endless task, but at least it will keep me out of sight for a while. Eventually it will bear fruit. It would go faster perhaps if I stopped at the various caverns and egg-mines I have found, but I want no mention made of my passage.

_**Day Eighty-three: Rescue**_

I finally found the caverns of Mamaca. Hannat Zainsubani was indeed there. He had not found the rich source of ebony he had hoped for. What he found was the Sixth House cult. The cavern swarms with dreamers; Dunmer who have forsaken their homes and their lives to answer the call of Dagoth Ur. They sleep and dream, and when awake they serve the ash legions of Dagoth Ur. I did not encounter any of the dreaded ash vampires, but had I fully explored the depths of the cave I may have.

By the time I found Zainsubani's cell I had dispatched numerous foes, but no alarm had been raised. Dreamers and the ash legions tend to fight silently, and I was very happy to do the same. While the unarmored and lightly armed dreamers fell easily to my spear, the ash monsters of Dagoth Ur are dangerous foes. Had they sounded the alarm and rallied to the defense I may have been hard pressed. Ash ghouls in particular have a fair command of destruction magic and attack with powerful shocks of electrical energy.

Young Zainsubani was badly shaken by his experience. While in the clutches of the cult his sleep has been tortured continuously by dreams. From what he says the dreams are similar to dreams I have experienced myself, though his were apparently far more vivid and have driven him to the brink of exhaustion. The haggard look of a man deprived of sleep struck a familiar note. I suspect these dreams are far more widespread than anyone would imagine, not confined to the dreamers of the cult, but rampant in the populace. Obviously they emanate from Red Mountain and are a weapon of Dagoth Ur. I left Mamaca as soon as I had found Zainsubani to lead him to safety, but I will return to lance this festering boil of poisonous dreams.

Someday, but not tonight. Once free of the cavern Zainsubani set off into the Ashlands. I was glad that Hannat did not return to my camp with me. I would hate to find out that my campmates were his friends or relatives. He requested that I deliver a message to his father to let him know he is well, and I agreed. Hassour should be done with my notes by now, and tomorrow I expect I will be on my way to Caius with them.

_**Day Eighty-four: False trail**_

I woke up this morning trying to blink the grit out of my eyes. I am really not made for camping out. I would not make a very good Ashlander. If I'm going to die from an attack in my sleep let it be at the Dark Brotherhood's hand in a comfortable bed. No need to make it easy for them though.

I returned to Ald-ruhn in time to have lunch with Hassour Zainsubani. I told him his son was alive and well and would be returning home soon. While the harsh Ashlands do not provide much comfort, thus producing a very hardy folk, they give something else. Something that produces a sense of honor that is almost tangible. I found Hannat Zainsubani as a favor to his father, who was doing a favor for me. I neither needed nor expected a reward. In fact, since Hannat's mission to explore Mamaca as a source of wealth had clearly come up empty any expectation I might have had I would have forsaken. I am learning about Ashlander customs, and not just from my notes.

Hannat had told me a line of poetry, and requested I repeat it to his father. I thought it was a way to ensure that I as the messenger was delivering a true message. It was that, and also more. When I quoted the line Hassour said, "You have rescued my son from grave danger, and he owes you a debt of gratitude that he could not repay." We had greeted each other as friends, and the formality of his tone surprised me. He told me to wait while he went to his room.

Upon his return Hassour placed a heavy cloth sack on the table. "Fifty pounds of raw ebony. This, my own blade." He unbuckled his shortsword, a fine Imperial weapon, and placed it alongside the sack. I recognized the venomous enchantment gleaming from the hilt. "And this, a ring from my own finger. My son's debt is repayed." "Hassour! No payment is..." He cut me off. "Silence friend. You came to me to learn the customs of my people. This is a lesson. Never refuse an Ashlander's gift, or their payment. It is a mortal insult."

I nodded. "Thank you my friend. For the opportunity to serve your family, and for the payment of your son's debt."

A smile creased his weathered face, bringing a light to the red eyes. "You learn fast," was all he said, and then the food and drink began to flow. By the time I reached the Ald-ruhn guild hall I was not thinking clearly, and only cooler heads kept me from falling deeply asleep in the room known by the Dark Brotherhood as mine.

Mage's can be such opportunists. I had just lain down on the bed when Edwinna burst peremptorily into the room. "Arvil Bren! You cannot sleep there!" she shouted. "I will not have a conjurer slain in my guild hall, and you are clearly in no shape to defend yourself." I had to concede that was true. I wouldn't have stood a chance with an assassin; I couldn't even escape her onslaught. By closing one eye I could get her into focus at least. "You need to get out of Ald-ruhn, and out of sight. I have just the thing." She pushed a thick packet into my hands as she led me onto the guild guide platform. "No one will know you are in Balmora tonight, and anyone asking for you will be told you are in your lab doing research. Good luck, and hurry back with my plans."

"Plans?" I said, as the teleportation took effect. "What plans?"

It is late at night in Balmora. The guild hall here is secure and on alert. I am finally sober enough to write, and to figure out that I have been dispatched to the remote island of Sheogorad. There is a Dwemer ruin there that Edwinna believes houses a set of blueprints. I hesitate to think what she wants to build. So much for comfortable beds.

_**Day Eighty-five: The Emperor's plan**_

I am worried about my reception at the Urshilaku camp. Hopefully the security of a larger clan will give me a moment to speak my piece. At small hunting camps it appears an outlander qualifies for killing on sight. I am once again bedded down in such a small camp, surrounded by my dead hosts. I don't really want to carve a swath of death through the Ashlands. That doesn't seem appropriate for the Nerevarine.

Being the Nerevarine, or at least looking very much like the Nerevarine, was the Emperor's plan for me all along. After breakfast at the guild hall I went to see Caius. He has come to trust me; enough to share the original coded message I delivered to him the first time I saw him. In it the Emperor directed that he use me and the Nerevarine prophecies to further the Empire's objectives in Morrowind. He apparently looks at the Prophecy as somewhat of a native superstition, but ordered that it be treated seriously. We have. So seriously that Caius has come to pretty firmly believe it. Dunmer live for centuries. They are not easily taken in, even the so called 'primitive' Ashlanders.

Whether to find out if I am the Nerevarine, or to find out what would be required to make me look like the Nerevarine, the next step is to approach the Nerevarine Cult directly. The Urshilaku clan leaders head the cult, so I am on the journey to their camp. My first stop is in Maar Gan to check in with a friend of Caius; a scout who can give me directions.

The Mage's Guild, which I joined to provide cover for my covert activities, is certainly providing it now. Doubly so. Ranis in Balmora and Edwinna in Ald-ruhn are reporting that I am holed up in my lab in Ald-ruhn. Under that cover they think I am on my way to the Dwemer ruins, with a stop in Maar Gan for Ranis. The Dark Brotherhood will have a hard time tracking me through all that haze. For my part I left Ald-ruhn hidden by my chameleon amulet and disappeared into the wastes. Tomorrow I will enter Maar Gan, and pursue my destiny.

_**Day Eighty-six: The necromancer of Maar Gan**_

I found the scout Nuleno Tedas in Maar Gan. He is a reliable friend of Caius, I hope. The fewer people know about my movements and destinations the better. The directions to the Urshilaku camp that he gave me will be useful in a way, even though I am not following them.

Nuleno's recommended path lead to a narrow pass into a steep walled foyada. His recommendation from there involved following the foyada to the coast and swimming around the headlands to the east. A fine path for a scout, not a conjurer. For me the shorter straight line path appeals more than the swim, so I levitated out of the foyada and will strike directly north in the morning.

While I was talking to Nuleno I started checking information for my other assignment in Maar Gan. When I asked about necromancy he just looked puzzled. When I asked about Tashpi he told me where to find her, but was clearly astonished that anyone would think she was a necromancer. He definitely would never believe that the village healer could be practicing the dark rites of necromancy. I knew it was quite possible, but decided to do some more checking.

The Redoran guards that patrol the streets of the outpost were my next source. I am coming to respect the Redorans. They seem to have found a balance between honoring the temple and the ancestral ways of the Dunmer, and they carry themselves with the dignity and courage of the Ashlanders without the short temper and xenophobia. The guards were helpful in clarifying information, though their information did not help with my mission. Nothing any of them has seen would indicate that there is an active practicing necromancer anywhere in or near Maar Gan. I went to Tashpi's hut hoping that the mystery could be resolved at the source.

Tashpi was completely taken aback when I asked her about necromancy. She is a lovely Dunmer woman who came to this remote outpost to be of service to her people. With her skills she could make a much better living in a major city, but the smaller villages are frequently in dire need, and she has chosen to meet that need. How could this good woman find herself accused of necromancy? How could I find myself sent here to end her life?

I should have guessed. Nowhere in her chosen life is there a need or a place for the Mage's Guild, so she never joined. Even when she was directly approached by Ranis herself, she refused. There are many villages in need of a healer. I feel bad for the people of Maar Gan, but their healer must go. Tashpi will find a place on the mainland to practice her arts. I will tell Ranis she is dead. I am losing patience with being Ranis' chosen assassin.

_**Day Eighty-seven: Shelter in the storm**_

The day dawned clear, but with a brisk wind. Looking down I could see that the deep channel of the foyada focused the wind, and billowing clouds of dusty ash were already rising. By the time I broke camp it was obvious I would need to find shelter as the wind continued to pick up, heading towards a howling fury. I sped down the hill to the north. Before long I was swallowed by the swirling torment of the ash storm. I wrapped my shirt around my head to filter the air. I had to breathe, but with no shirt the grit that seeped inside my armor ground away at my skin. And nothing could protect my eyes. I considered just lying down, curled in a protective ball, but I was afraid the marching dunes would bury me alive.

I hoped I was still headed north, but I wasn't sure. Whatever the direction, off to my left I saw the blurred figure of a man stumbling through the storm. Hoping that he would know a place to seek shelter I turned to join him. As I approached I saw that he was making for a cave entrance, sealed by a worn wooden door. Gratefully I called out to my fellow traveler.

My usual caution had been overcome by the torment of the storm, but as soon as I called out I saw all the reasons that I shouldn't have. Shirtless in the storm; the hulking gait; my hope for safe harbor from the storm collapsed with my recognition of a man far gone with corprus disease. The abomination wheeled clumsily and charged through the swirling ash and dust. With no time for thought I instinctively rammed my spear into its chest. The force of its charge bore me over backwards. The creature thrashed about, showing no sign of human intelligence, or even the slower thoughts of an animal. The fast growing flesh tried to close around the spear, but with every movement the weight of the long shaft would pull and twist the blade releasing great gushes of bloody froth from the shredded lungs. No effort was made to pull the spear free. Driven by malice over self preservation the poor blighted soul poured out its life while vainly struggling to reach me.

Once it was still I recovered my spear and turned to the door. I hesitated briefly, fearful of what must lie within. A corprus stalker on their doorstep did not speak well for the occupants of the cave. Driven by the storm I slipped inside.

Iam afraid to sleep in this evil place, but the storm continues to rage outside. It is a Sixth House base; fortunately small; a single descending spiral ending at a shrine. With no cross passages the fell creatures had no way to get behind me, and were dispatched in sequence and fairly quickly. Still I am uncomfortable here. I am resting against the surface door, as far from the horrid altar with its bins of corprus laden meat as I can get. I pray the storm passes soon.

_**Day Eighty-eight: The Urshilaku**_

I slept fitfully through the night, and more through the morning. The storm raged unabated outside the door. No further threats arose from the shrine below, but I was very happy to take my leave when the wind finally died down. The midday sun hung pale red above the settling dust. I set out to the north.

It was not all that far to the shore, and I had not strayed far from my course. The Urshilaku camp appeared off to the west as I topped a rise. I turned to approach, keeping a wary eye on the Ashlanders that could be seen moving among the grouping of yurts. I wanted to appear respectful and cautious, but must admit that I would have been far more comfortable with my bow in my hands rather than slung on my back.

I was well within bowshot, and knew there were many eyes upon me when a rangy Dunmer sauntered out to meet me at the edge of the camp. "Outlander. What do you want?" he asked. His tone was not the hissing accusation I had heard before, just a flat statement of fact. I am an outlander.

I kept my own voice equally flat as I replied. "I have come seeking the counsel of your Ashkhan and your wise woman. I must know more of the prophecy of the Nerevarine."

"What would an outlander need to know of this? What brings you to this place? The Tribunal Temple has called the prophecy heresy. Do you say we are heretics? Would you burn our camp for the tribunes?" The red eyes were narrowed, and even though his hands stayed clear of his weapons danger radiated from him in a near visible cloud.

"I call no one a heretic. I was born on the certain day. I do not know my parents. I must know more about the prophecies. A good friend, an honorable man of the Ashlands, told me this is where I could find the answers I seek. I do not know what gifts to bring to you, your clan, or your honored chief, but I am willing to learn so I can follow that custom."

"An outlander thinks he is the Nerevarine," he said. "This is too much for me. See Zabamund, in that yurt there." He stepped aside as he motioned towards one of the large yurts set in a semicircle in the center of the camp. "He is a gulakhan, a trusted advisor to Sul-Matuul. He can weigh the merits of your story better than I."

I thanked him and walked towards the center of the camp.

"Outlander," he called from behind me. "Gold. We are in a modern age. Zabamund likes gold."

I entered the tent slowly. "Your pardon for the intrusion gulakhan. I would speak to you, and bring a gift of gold which I hope is suitable."

"You know our ways outlander. Many of your kind would call that a 'bribe', something dishonorable to be offered in darkness. I thank you for your gift. You may speak." Zabamund's eyes grew wide and incredulity spread over his features. "An outlander the Nerevarine! Why not a kagouti, or a shalk beetle? I think you may be mad Arvil Bren, but your voice rings true and I warrant you are no liar. Tell your tale to the Ashkahn. If he is upset at the disturbance he will be upset with me. I can afford that.."

The Ashkahn Sul-Matuul was not upset, stating simply that he trusted his advisors as he pocketed the gift of gold I delivered. He also seemed more open to the possibility of an outlander being the Nerevarine, but perhaps as the leader of his people he is just more diplomatic and humored me along. In any event he told me nothing of the prophecies, holding that knowledge secret among the clan. To get the answers I seek I must be named as a clanfriend. I thought this might be just a question of gold, and maybe if it was just up to the living members of the clan it would be, but it isn't.

Sul-Matuul sent me on a rite of initiation, to retrieve his father's bow from the clan burial caverns. I will be tested by his ancestors; either accepted or killed.

_**Day Eighty-nine: Burial caverns**_

I camped last night on the beach. Sul-Matuul's directions to the burial caverns started from a cairn of stones on the shore, and it seemed like an auspicious place to start the day. It was also far enough from the Urshilaku camp to make it clear that I wasn't presuming success in becoming a clanfriend. Good thing.

I did not find the bone-biter bow. In fact I'm not sure I even found any burial chambers. Overall I was unprepared and ill equipped for the task. Fortunately there was no time limit set for completing this initiation.

Finding the cavern was easy enough. The north facing door is always shadowed by the rocky outcrop above it, but the directions were exact. I fended off some cliff racers and arrived in good spirits well before mid-day. My confidence did not last long.

The heavy wooden door swung shut of its own weight behind me, leaving me in a twilight world of glowing magica and dripping water seemingly far removed from the arid Ashlands above. The raw magica flowing in visible fountains; the basic stuff of the universe on display; no wonder the Urshilaku ancestors had chosen this place to bury their dead. Like all men in all times I'm sure they dreamed of channeling that power. Perhaps in death they have.

The entry passage sloped downwards gently, and was flanked by two short columns that flared into platforms just above my head. On each platform, seated with knees drawn up to their chests, an ancient mummy gazed down, unperturbed by my passing. My passage did not disturb them, but in passing them I clearly entered the realm of the Urshilaku dead. No sooner had I passed between them than I was beset by a skeletal warrior bearing a mighty silver sword.

With the massive haft clutched in both bony hands the skeleton unleashed a great chopping downstoke meant to cleave me in half. I dodged aside, leaving the great blade to glance off my shoulder and crash against the rocky floor. Even the glancing blow took me off my feet. Whatever ethereal muscle animated the skeletal frame held astonishing strength. I rolled against the cave wall to avoid another tremendous chop while unleashing the spear within my enchanted shortsword.

The warrior knew that the outcrops of the roughly hewn wall would catch or deflect the sword's downward chopping path, but the blade could follow a great glittering arc slicing sideways and down to where I lay trying desperately to gather myself. I swung my spear out against the cavern floor at a shallow angle, and the shaft guided the huge claymore upwards, to crash against the rock wall above me. A shower of gritty fragments rained down on me as I continued to my feet.

I am accustomed to the long reach of a spear giving me an advantage over swordsmen, but the giant claymore and supernatural speed of my articulated foe more than matched my advantage, and the ceaseless endurance of the undead kept blows hammering down on me in a torrent. I dodged. I deflected with my spear's sturdy shaft. I leapt backwards, begging my own ancestors to keep me from stumbling on the uneven floor. And I watched. Eventually I saw what I needed to see.

I sidestepped a great chop, then bounded back to land with all my weight on my arms, which brought my spear across the blade before it could rebound off the stone. Driving forward, the shaft slid up the blade to the hilt, gaining leverage with every inch it traveled further from where the point met the floor, eventually crashing the full length of the sword to the ground. The skeleton clung desperately, not wanting to be disarmed, and was dragged helplessly down to crash its bare skull into my armored shoulder. I got a knee onto the haft of the sword, pinning and crushing finger bones, and slammed the spear crossways into the monster's writhing spine. With a loud crunch bones parted, leaving the legs scrambling for purchase and the upper portion scrabbling for its sword. I pounded both parts to splinters.

As the heat of battle faded I recognized that I was far from unharmed and cast a healing spell. I had grown tired of carrying the weight of my steel shield, finding that I am better protected by improved nimbleness without it, but I missed the powerful healing enchantment I had placed on it. My healing spell is slightly more effective, but depletes my reserves of magica. Fine for the occasional battle in the wilderness, but clearly I will not be able to get far enough into the tombs to accomplish my task without every advantage.

I continued down the passage warily, and defeated two more skeletons before reaching a door protected by a wide moat of water. To levitate across would have taken all of my remaining magica. I was out of arrows. I gathered the three heavy silver claymores, opting to use the last of my magica to teleport home in defeat. At least I got out alive, unlike the two battered corpses in various states of decay that showed I was not the first adventurer bent on exploring the crypt.

_**Day Ninety: Regroup and research**_

Amazing how often what is intended to be a lie turns into the truth. I created the cover story that I was holed up in Ald-ruhn doing research to mislead any Dark Brotherhood assassin that might be looking for me, and now I am holed up in Ald-ruhn doing research. Actually I used the guild guide late this evening, so I'm sleeping in Balmora; safely off the target I hope.

I got up early this morning and hauled my collected silver weapons off to Mebestien's shop. He was disappointed that I didn't have another load of Dwemer artifacts for him, but satisfied when I allowed him a good price for the swords. That weight off my shoulders I set out for Balmora, with my healing shield and well worn levitation boots. Not my most effective armor, but I will have need of their enchantments.

I maintained my cover by slipping invisibly through the streets of Balmora to the guild hall. By entering through the upper door I spared any passersby the mystery of a door opening by itself, though I did surprise Galbedir when I appeared suddenly in her lab. Ranis was pleased with my report of Tashpi's demise, though I hate to think what will happen if she ever finds out the truth. Edwinna was not as pleased to see me when I transported to Ald-ruhn, since I had to admit I had not gotten anywhere near her Dwemer ruin. She is forgiving though, and understands the occasional need to teleport to safety.

The rest of the day I spent with Hassour Zainsubani. When he heard that Sul-Matuul was considering making me a clanfriend he was impressed. When he heard about the initiation rite I was facing he was dubious. "You will be sorely tested Arvil Bren," he said, and shook his head.

One thing that emerged from our conversation is the difference between an Ashland clan burial cavern and the tombs of the settled Dunmer families that I am already familiar with. I had not considered that the Urshilaku clan, not just a single family, has been using that cavern for possibly hundreds of generations. I can expect that it will be a gigantic underground complex. It was likely a huge cavern to start with, and has had many vaults and chambers added to it. When I described the tunnel I had already explored, which has a chamber on each side high above the floor, Hassour suggested those were likely the original burial vaults, abandoned and unused for millennia. Suitable for discarding the remains of intruders. Hassour didn't say that it was a likely place for me to end up, but I'm sure it crossed his mind.

There are three broad challenges that the Urshilaku ancestors will present. Obviously, this is a test of courage. To face possibly hundreds of undying guardians is daring taken to the border of madness. Also obviously, it challenges all my skill and endurance. Hassour says the undead will reform ranks behind me. If I teleport myself out I will have to start as if I had never entered the caverns, and I will not be able to rest inside. The third challenge is a test of greed. The skeletal warriors will bring their silver weapons from the plane of the dead. If the riches call me they will weigh me down long before I reach the deeper caverns, and again, to leave is to start over.

If this is what the Ashlanders require of their friends, what will they demand of the Nerevarine?

_**Day Ninety-one: Quest for the Bone-biter Bow**_

I rose before dawn and took the guild guide transport to Ald-ruhn, where I slipped out of town under cover of darkness and my amulet's strong chameleon spell. The long hike into the Ashlands is wearing. I wish I could take the silt strider to Maar Gan, but I don't want to leave any trail for the Dark Brotherhood. In fact I avoided Maar Gan completely, and all other outposts of civilization.

How to describe the wide grey expanses of the Ashlands? Hard black rock rises like the exposed bones of some great dead beast; sometimes a ridge, like a spine; sometimes a series of sharp pinnacles, like grasping claws. Trama vines eke their living from the wastes, writhing to the surface as fast as the mighty dust storms can bury them. Lichen grows on the surface of rocks on the side away from Red Mountain. Anchored against the wind it could cover the stones, but the storms scour the faces, leaving them pitted and scarred.

It is a harsh land, and home to harsh creatures. Cliff racers soar from their high aeries to scavenge vast territories; or kill. Northern Kagouti may be even dumber than their cousins in the lush southern regions, though that is a cold judgment. The two that charged me as I passed today showed the effects of their environment, but can hardly be blamed for suffering the difficulties they were born into. They are thinner, with heavier hides protecting them from the scourging sands, and if possible even worse dispositions.

I think the best fit creature for the Ashlands is the shalk beetle. They are about the size of a man, but scurrying low on their six legs they are better able to weather the winds. Their thick black carapace affords protection from the grating sands, and the ravages of cliff racers. The shell is thinner underneath, and a hungry enterprising racer may strike to flip them over, but they are well equipped for offense as well. As they charge they spew a cloud of burning stinging mist. It is best to kill them before they get close, but that can be difficult as their shell is some proof against arrows. Fortunately, a shot that damages a foreleg, or severs a somewhat vulnerable antenna can completely disrupt their charge, leaving them skidding across the sands.

Tonight I am camped among these creatures, and I suspect sleep will be fitful at best. In the morning I will reenter the burial caverns. I will emerge a clanfriend, or not at all.

_**Day Ninety-two: Spirit of Sul-Senipul**_

I rose from my fitful slumber shortly after dawn and quaffed a restorative potion to make up for the lost sleep. A small pile of crumbly dry trama vine and a flame spell, a kwama egg fried on my steel shield, toast with scrib jelly, and I was ready to face my fate.

As Hassour had predicted new skeletal sentinels had taken their posts in the entry tunnel. Expecting their presence I crept in hidden by my chameleon amulet and let fly with a barrage of arrows. I have found that skeletal warriors are best dealt with by targeting the pelvic bones. The broad flat bones offer a fair target, and a bone splintering impact from an iron broadhead can knock them completely off their bony feet. With that initial advantage I dispatched many of my adversaries without actually having to cross blades with their mighty silver claymores.

Beyond the entry tunnel I found a large water filled cavern. Stalagtites from an earlier drier age broke the surface, providing a path that could be followed by nimble leaping or levitation. I crossed carefully, not wanting to find out what lurked in the still waters. Burial urns and mummies adorned numerous outcrops and niches in the stone walls. I didn't know how I would recognize Sul-Senipul, but this cavern seemed to have been used long centuries before so I did not expect to find Sul-Matuul's father there. Rising slightly from the far side of the lake a tunnel led into the next cavern.

I continued on, knowing that I was already deep below ground. The next cavern confirmed that, as the top of the eerily lit dome closed high above my head. Water tumbled down from far above, pooling around the base of a great pile of jumbled stone that rose in the center to meet the vault far above. Precarious ramps led upward in a haphazard spiral. As I scaled upwards I kept the command word for my levitating boots on the tip of my tongue.

Four burial chambers open from the great central dome. I peered into them briefly as I passed, but I could see that far above there were ledges that held mummified remains. I thought that perhaps the central cavern could be a place of honor appropriate for the latest Urshilaku chiefs. When I completed the climb the dust of ages once again indicated that this chamber had been used many generations ago. It was definitely worth the climb though. Clutched against the chest of an ancient corpse I found the Magebane sword. This powerful and beautiful relic is forged from the volcanic glass of Red Mountain and adorned with precious metals. It would be worth a fortune, even without the powerful enchantments that protect the wielder from magical attack. I may have to get instruction in the art of combat with a two handed sword, just so I can have the experience of using such a blade.

Hassour's instruction rang in my ears. I had abandoned dozens of the silver weapons brought from the undead plane by the skeletal guardians, but Magebane was different. It was as if the ancient weapon whispered to me, demanding to be free of the tomb of its previous master. I slung the sword across my back, surprised at how light it is for such a massive weapon. Light, but still an addition to my load that I hoped would not undo my quest.

I explored the burial vaults until I found the object of my quest. A stone temple shelters the remains of the recently deceased chieftain and offers his spirit a haunting ground. A ground that gave the shade a distinct advantage. Before I had any chance to see it lurking in the shadowy heights the ghost unleashed the power of the Bone-biter. Great bolts of magic blasted down on me, draining the agility from my limbs. My own bow fell from my suddenly clumsy grasp, and as the specter swooped to the attack I was afraid to dodge for fear of stumbling to the floor. Ghostly arrows clattered off my armor or pierced deep into my flesh. I dropped to my knees, huddling behind my steel shield and calling forth the healing enchantment within it, then gulping a potion brewed to dispel magical effects.

With my coordination restored I rose to face the angry spirit. "Revered ancestor, I would choose not to harm you, and mean no harm to your people, but I must take your bow back into the light of day and deliver it to your son." I dove and rolled to one knee with my own enchanted bow back in my hands. When I enchanted my bow I never would have anticipated this moment. My bow's magic is an exact counter for the Bone-biter, fortifying the agility of the wielder rather than diminishing that of the target. We exchanged spells until both weapons sputtered, the magica pent up in their souls spent.

"Sul-Senipul, I did not come here to steal your weapon from the Urshilaku, but to restore it to hands that can use it every day. I fear you, and the judgment of the ancestors, but the quest given by Sul-Matuul must be completed. I would leave your spirit here, where it can guide the clan and continue to serve, but if there is no other way I will dispatch you back to the plane of the dead."

The spirit settled to the stone floor and seemed to gain substance until it was almost solid. The glowing red eyes looked deeply into me. I wonder if my own physical substance appears as insubstantial to him as his does to me. With a clatter the bonemold bow landed at my feet.

I am home. Home with the Bone-biter bow of Sul-Senipul. I cannot say the Urshilaku ancestors welcomed me with open arms, but the initiation is complete.

_**Day Ninety-three:Tested**_

Many times today I wished I had not used my recall spell last night. Carrying the Bone-biter bow of Sul-Senipul might have given me passage out of the burial caverns past the rest of the Urshilaku ancestors, but I didn't think of that. It seemed easier to recall out and spend the night with Ahnassi. Definitely no complaint there, or overall, but it is a long trek back to the Urshilaku camp, especially since I didn't want to use the guild guide and pass through Ald-ruhn again without having started on Edwinna's assignment. Overall a hectic day of running, restoratives, and self defense. One would think this island would run out of cliff racers eventually.

I arrived at the Urshilaku camp after sunset, but not too late to be welcomed. Sul-Matuul was suitably astonished at my return. True to his word he accepted me as a clanfriend, offering the fullest hospitality of the camp, but he had not expected to see me again. According to the legend the Nerevarine is supposed to drive all the outlanders out of Morrowind. How an outlander could do that is pretty hard for him to get his head around. It's beyond me, and I've been thinking about it for a lot longer. I hoped to get an answer from the wise woman. Now that I am a clanfriend I was allowed to speak to her.

Nibani Maesa surprised me. I don't really forget that the Dunmer live for centuries, but I don't always think of the consequences. The words 'wise woman' bring an image of an aged crone, huddled in a robe three sizes too big for the shriveled body. Nibani is a beautiful, vibrant woman, despite having lived long enough to commit all the lore of the clan to memory. She seemed better able to deal with the idea of an outlander Nerevarine. Partly because I am not the Nerevarine.

The first thing she explained to me is that I am someone who might become the Nerevarine, but I am not now. The Urshilaku ancestors apparently accepted that I might and let me pass, but there are many more trials to be faced. The rise of the 'sleepers' and the Sixth House cult she takes as signs that the time of the Nerevarine has arrived. My arriving at the same time doesn't mean I'm the Nerevarine, but she is thinking that I may have some part to play.

I don't know if I even want that part to turn out to be as the Nerevarine. One of the prophecies is called 'The Seven Trials'. The first trial I completed just by being born on the right day, but the remaining trials are not even clearly understood. How am I supposed to pass them?

"Neither blight nor age can harm him. The curse-of-flesh before him flies." Nibani thinks 'curse of flesh' refers to the corprus disease. Maybe it means that the Nerevarine has to cure the corprus. Maybe it means he is immune to the corprus. Maybe it means that the Nerevarine returns as a ghost with no flesh.

"In caverns dark Azura's eye sees, and makes to shine the moon and star." This one Nibani seems to know something about, but wouldn't speak of it. There is a cavern called 'the Shrine of the Incarnate', but I'm not allowed to ask about it. She did tell me that Nerevar bore some sort of moon and star marking, but some people say it was a birthmark while others say it was a ring or other token. In any event I don't have it and since I can't ask about this shrine I see no way to get it.

"A stranger's voice unites the houses. Three halls call him Hortator." At least this one is easy to figure out. Three of the five great houses are represented on Vvardenfell. In times of dire crisis the great houses suspend their usual rivalries and unite under the authority of a Hortator; a sort of war leader. Understandable, but clearly beyond me. House Hlaalu is basically under the control of the Cammona Tong. Those bigots are not going to accept an outlander Hortator. They hate all outlanders, and me more than most.

"A stranger's hand unites the Velothi. Four tribes call him Nerevarine." This has to refer to the four tribes of the Ashlanders. From what Hassour has said the other three tribes aren't even sure they believe in a Nerevarine. What would make them believe, and what would even begin to make them believe in an outlander Nerevarine?

"He honors blood of the tribe unmourned. He eats their sin, and is reborn." Nibani guesses that the 'tribe unmourned' would be house Dagoth, but it might be the Dwemer. As to atoning for the vast sins of either one she offers no clue.

"His mercy frees the cursed false gods, binds the broken, redeems the mad." 'False Gods' no doubt refers to the tribunal, but again there is no clue as to what they need to be free of. At last report Vivec is in his palace, not a prison, and the other two don't seem to be complaining either.

Whatever my part is, I have to think it does not involve passing these trials. What I can do is find what Nibani calls the lost prophecies. Caius and his contacts in the temple should be able to find a way to put me in touch with the dissident priests.

_**Day Ninety-four: Journey to Sheogorad**_

The ruins Edwinna wants me to explore are at Mzuleft, on the main island of Sheogorad. Sheogorad lies off the north coast. They are untamed; a wilderness that provides a buffer between Vvardenfell and the Sea of Ghosts. Off the shore near the Urshilaku camp the chain has dwindled down to nothing more than a scattering of fang like rocks rising above the sea. My intent was to travel along the coast until I could cross to a major island, then work along the chain to the main island. An outpost called Dagon Fel lies near the ruins, and I thought I could make it in a day. I almost made it, but not as planned.

I awoke to the sound of hide slamming against poles. Nibani Maesa had allowed me to pitch my bedroll in her yurt. The howling wind threatened to collapse it over us. She laughed as I sat bolt upright. "It is a sturdy tent Arvil Bren, fit for the Nerevarine himself," she said. I took a brief glance out at the swirling ash and dust and changed my plan. Just as well.

My recall spell again took me home to Pelagiad and Ahnassi's house. The first benefit of my changed plan was seeing her. She had acquired an appropriate scabbard for me, and the great sword Magebane now rides across my back. Though cracking mudcrabs and slaying rats is certainly beneath the dignity of such a fine weapon it provided good practice throughout the day.

I hiked into Balmora. The clear skies and sunshine of the Ascadian Isles was even more enjoyable than usual after the brief taste of ashstorm. Caius was impressed by the tale of the Bone-biter bow and my new status among the Ashlanders. We read over the notes I had taken, and he was amazed by the idea that I could possibly become the real Nerevarine rather than the copy that I was originally intended to be. The trials did set him back however. "Well that explains why Nerevarines don't just fall off the trees," he said with a shrug. He agreed to contact Mehra Milo and start setting me up to meet the dissident priests. He also gave me some useful advice regarding my mission to Sheogorad.

When my meeting with the spymaster was complete I went to the guild hall. I did not want to face Edwinna, or the Ashstorm that would likely still be blowing between Ald-ruhn and the coast. Caius let me know that I didn't need to. I took the guild guide to Sidrith Mora, capital of the Telvanni district, and took ship directly to Dagon Fel. I sleep tonight in comfort, safe on the rolling sea, and will see the sun rise over Dagon Fel tomorrow.

_**Day Ninety-five:Mzuleft**_

The ship docked at Dagon Fel as I rose this morning. I had heard nothing very good about this tiny village, but as always one has to see for themselves. I found the people friendly and the village sturdy. The location is obviously highly desirable as it has been occupied, and fought over, for millennia. Beneath the foundations of the present village lie the remains of Nord fishermen who settled here in a time long beyond reckoning. They were driven out by the Dunmer or the Dwemer, and the site changed hands between them frequently until the disappearance of the Dwemer left it to the administration of the Temple. The Empire has brought new life to the fallow site, and in the cycle of time the modern village is home to fishermen; mostly Nords.

I was warned to not be fooled by the beauty of the surrounding wilderness or the peacefulness of the village. Sheogorad is untamed and even the roads must be traveled with caution. When I asked a guard, a member of the Imperial Legion, for directions to Mzuleft he gave them grudgingly. The island is dotted with ancient ruins and other sites of interest. In his opinion many of them are much safer to visit. When I insisted that my task called for Mzuleft and no other site would do he sent me on my way with a reminder that outside the confines of the village I should expect no rescue from the Legion.

It did not take long for his pessimism to prove to be warranted. There is a beast that roams the plane of the Daedra called a hunger. They feed on metals and have a strong taste for enchanted metals particularly, so they are sometimes summoned for use in war and other conflict. A group of them driven into the enemy formations can wreck havoc, disintegrating weapons right out of their hands and the armor off of their backs. I have no idea how one of these voracious creatures came to be wandering loose on this mortal plane, but there he was.

The hunger had set itself up at a crossroads, and was obviously well fed. The litter of straps, scabbards, and other bits and pieces indicated that many unwary travelers had left prize possessions to be consumed. Occasional bones marked those who had not given up on some rapidly deteriorated weapon and been struck down by the sharp claws for their efforts. I slipped into the shadow of a jumble of boulders and watched the pacing monster to get a feel for its movements.

It had a definite lair. Off the road a bit, but with easy access. If someone came along it could lurk there unseen until they were well within its range. With no one in sight the creature shuffled about, walking on two legs though hunched far over, shuffling through the fallen remnants for tidbits left from previous meals. I made a slow stealthy approach, and struck the hunger from behind before it could weaken my spear. Though it did do some damage before it thrashed out the last of its life, I suffered no loss or damage that a few minutes at the forge can't repair. Fearsome creatures from the Daedric and elemental planes just wandering the countryside. I may never complain about cliff racers again.

When I reached the ruins I found them taken over by Orcs; warriors and barbarians, heavily armed. I was very glad that the hunger had not badly damaged the Dwemer metal of my spear, and that I had enchanted it with the frost spell that I did. A minor wound or even a thrust completely blocked by armor left my foes stricken with a piercing cold that numbed the limbs and cracked the heavy green skin. Fortunately the Orcs were stupid in their lust for battle and charged recklessly as fast as they arrived at the scene. Had they just tried to hold me at bay and defend themselves until they could all strike together after the first bellowing war cry alerted them I would have been in serious trouble. As it happened they fell in ones and twos as my spear caked with their frozen blood.

I feel much better about the fortune in silver weapons that I abandoned in the burial caverns. Orcish smiths make some of the most prized armor and weapons, and I teleported home so heavily laden that I couldn't move a step. I even made a necklace out of great gears of Dwemer metal. They were on the floor, not really supported by the cord around my neck, but that was sufficient for my recall spell to catch them in its field. Ahnassi was amused, but Mebestian will be very pleased with my ingenuity. Five hundred pounds of raw Dwemer metal will fetch a good price. The plans and an ancient Dwemer book were probably the greatest treasures in the ruin, but of course they had been passed over by the stupid Orcs.

_**Day Ninety-six: New ruins**_

I delivered the Scarab blueprint to Edwinna today. She was greatly pleased, not only with the plans but that I showed up at exactly the right moment. She said the guild hall was in an uproar.

I got up this morning expecting a fairly peaceful day. Ahnassi and I shared a quiet breakfast. I am truly in love with my tiger woman. She went to Mebestian's shop before he was open for business. He lives upstairs, and she brought him back to the house. Over soothing tea brewed from hackle-lo leaf we negotiated a fair price for the latest load of Dwemer artifacts. He took what he could, limited by what he could pay for as well as what he could carry. Over the next couple weeks he will be stopping by to pick up the rest from Ahnassi.

Pelagiad is perfectly located. I have found that my intervention spell, used for teleporting to the nearest temple will take me to Vivec if I am on the south side of the main street, but by the simple crossing of the street I am closer to Balmora. One of the benefits of Pelagiad as a place to stay out of sight is that it has no ready access to fast transportation; no silt strider, no guild guides, no port. Only traffic from the main road passes through, mostly traders leading pack guar or herdsmen. Not the idle travelers that could turn out to be Dark Brotherhood assassins. Having my magic mark set in the house is the only thing that gives me the ready access that I have.

Anyway, I avoided making an appearance in Balmora, where I would likely be recognized, by teleporting into the throngs of pilgrims and functionaries of teeming Vivec City. Again, I am thankful for Ahnassi. I told her my plan, and my reasoning...and she purred softly but looked perplexed. "My love, you go this way to Vivec to avoid recognition, yes?" she asked. I nodded. "I have a gift. A fine common brown robe for you to wear." The Khajiit are very sensitive to feelings, and she did not want to offend me, but I could tell by the light dancing in her eyes that there was more to this disguise than met the eye.

My eye, not hers. I looked down at myself. Indoril boots, made of chitinous shells bound with hardened resins, gleaming a deep blue. Armored leggings reinforced with the bright green fibers of Red Mountain's volcanic glass. Breastplate made from the ruddy hide of a dreugh and the golden glow of Dwemer metal bracers on my forearms completed the rainbow. I wanted to be inconspicuous, but looked like I had gotten seperated from my circus. When I looked back at the delicately stripped face we both collapsed with laughter. I took the robe.

The hike across Vivec was interesting, as always, but uneventful, and I hurried through the guild hall. The petty jealousies there seem to have cooled. My promotion by the Archmage was well earned, I think, and despite the generally low morale of his staff they are coming to accept that he may have been right for once. I was quite happy though to transport on to Ald-ruhn.

I had no sooner appeared on the guild guide platform than Erranil was shouting. "Edwinna! Edwinna! Arvil Bren is here!" Then she muttered "thank the divines, maybe now she will calm down." With that as a herald I stepped into the mayhem, hoping the plans in my hand would shield me from whatever was going on. They didn't. My arrival did get everyone else off the hook though.

Edwinna snatched them with a quick word of thanks and continued without stopping for breath, "You are just in time! A new ruin has been discovered! Someone needs to get over there right away and recover any critical artifacts before some dreugh clawed barbarian with the brain of a mudcrab sells them to a smuggler for a jug of sujamma!" I could tell by the way the local guild hall staff were slipping quietly into corners that they were thankful her 'someone' had taken form other than them. There was no question that I was the one she now had firmly in mind. "The kwama broke into it from the Gnissis egg mine. The legion there has been apparently keeping it quiet. The Deathshead garrison there is mostly conscripts and Orcs so they certainly can't be trusted with such a find. Go at once! Take the silt strider to Gnissis and get down in that egg mine."

"Edwinna, if I get riding around on a silt strider the Dark Brotherhood is sure to pick up my trail," I protested.

She smiled a cold smile. "You've handled their petty assassins before Arvil Bren, and this is important. Our scuttleheaded Archmage doesn't understand the importance of my research, but I thought you did." The smile turned from cold to dazzling in an instant. I suspect some amount of magica went into a charm spell but I didn't actually catch it. Edwinna didn't get to be a guild hall steward without a powerful command of spellcraft. The next thing I knew I was on my way to the strider port.

I slipped into the Gnissis temple as quickly and quietly as I could. It's a good thing I joined the temple. They were happy to provide a bed for the night, and among the pilgrims that come and go here I may be able to remain out of sight; for one night at least.

_**Day Ninety-seven: The Gnissis egg mine**_

Gnissis is a very tense place. House Redoran is very traditional. They strongly support the temple, but there is an undercurrent of sympathy towards the even older ways of ancestor worship. The presence of significant temple shrines in Gnissis and the surrounding area made it difficult for the temple to turn jurisdiction over to the Redorans. The Empire, in their usual overbearing way, has built a fort here in the questionable guise of keeping the peace. To some extent it worked, the Redorans and the Temple are united in their unhappiness with this turn of events.

The demands on the Legion left General Darius with few options. To garrison the new fort he has had to find soldiers as best he could. Monsters flowing out of Red Mountain are providing a lucrative market for mercenaries familiar with Vvardenfell as well as occupying the locals who have a heroic bent, so recruiting is difficult. Orcs, fresh from the mountains of the far west, have been inducted into the Legion in droves, and swell the ranks in backwater posts like Gnissis. A horde of green skinned barbarians unfamiliar with Vvardenfell's factions and subtleties perhaps raises more tension than it eases. Just keeping order in the ranks is a challenge I'm sure. I don't think the General was even aware of the discovery of the Dwemer ruin.

The mine has been closed to the public due to the kwama queen contracting the blight. The miners are allowed limited access to work, and there is a thriving black market for kwama eggs, but the export trade is completely stopped. The port is idle, adding to the economic woes of the underworked miners. The legion has a guard posted at the locked door of the mine. Although he was reasonably courteous it was clear that to get the key from him would involve a display that would have roused the entire garrison. The armored Orcs roaming the streets would surely respond without even limited courtesy.

It seemed I was at an impasse. I was sure that taking on the legion garrison was not what Edwinna had in mind, and it certainly didn't strike me as a good idea. I had lunch at the tradehouse after a morning of fruitless inquiries. My fortunes rose as I ate.

Though priced high, the tradehouse menu did offer kwama egg fare. The proprietor was not the most open source, but a few drakes slipped across the counter got me a recommendation about someone who 'might know a bit' about where eggs could be had. I set off to find a Hainab Lasamsi, an unemployed Dunmer who had opted out of the egg mine completely rather than scraping along on the limited work being allowed.

Hainab was not hard to find. The unveiled hatred passing between him and the Orcs of the garrison arced through the air like lightning as he passed through the streets. Just being seen talking to him seemed like a bad idea. I managed to walk near enough to say "I'd like to propose some business, but not the kind your admirers would approve. Can we get out of sight?" He gave the slightest nod, and I went to a nearby merchant's open air stall to watch him surreptitiously. He wandered idly, but eventually drifted out of town to the south. I continued my shopping until the guards had eased into more relaxed postures, then followed at my own leisurely pace.

As I walked along a trail by the river the dark elf leapt out of the brush. It was not an ambush, but he was clearly wanting to show that it could have been. Our negotiations did not start well. "The loss of output from your mine is causing concern among some...associates," I began.

He cut me off. "Your words fall from your mouth like the droppings of a guar outlander. There are a hundred egg mines in Vvardenfell, all bursting at the seams with eggs that have no transport to market. The ships do not come for fear of the blight. There is no shortage of eggs to keep the legion from closing us down, and your 'associates' have no concern for our problems. Tell me the truth of your business or I will be throwing your bones to the slaughterfish."

Perceptive, better informed, and straight to the point; I hated him, briefly. After some frank discussion though we realized we had mutual interests. One Orc in particular presented a serious problem to Hainab's new business, and that particular Orc was going to be an unavoidable obstacle in my search for the ruins.

Hainab was among the first miners to recognize that the burrowing kwama had broken into something special. His first thought was that all the miners were going to be rich, as perhaps by right they should have been. But the Orcs of the garrison had been quick to point out that Dwemer artifacts were property of the Emperor despite the standard mining agreements that said the workers of a mine would split any and all profits from unusual finds. Their leader in fact, though not rank; a former warrior chieftain whose fractious nature kept him from rising in the legion, established a plan to smuggle the artifacts away that was supposed to enrich everyone involved. In practice only the Orcs profited. Claims that the ruins had yielded little; threats to blame everything on the miners; fierce beatings from armored warriors; the miners were a down trodden lot with no recourse. Hainab turned to smuggling eggs out of the mines.

Our paths crossed at the Orc leader. This villain had established himself in the lowest levels of the egg mine near the entrance to the ruins, where he could turn away any investigation by the miners. He had a bedroll, and apparently his minions covered his duties and kept him supplied; mostly with liquor as he could get fat from the vast supply of kwama eggs and scrib jelly in the inoperative mine. Hainab knew of a secret entrance to the mines, by way of an underground stream, but slinking past the Orc with his loads of eggs was a constant risk. He revealed the entrance to me, and gave me directions to the ruins. The only catch in this generous sharing being that his directions included one unmistakable landmark; the Orc.

The trek through the submerged passage was long, and I was still dripping when I met the enemy. There was no question of negotiation. I was there to kill him, and since I was obviously no passing miner he was set on killing me. The battle was short and vicious. He did not seem as skilled with his longsword as I expected, and the Legion armor he wore was heavier than the Orcish mail to which he was no doubt accustomed. The ebony lifetaker, my shortsword that draws life from those it strikes and channels it into healing magic for me, made short work of him. I think he was probably drunk, though with an Orc that can be hard to tell.

The ruins have been stripped of artifacts, but fortunately only the Orcs of the garrison were involved. A book, written in Dwemer, lay discarded under a dusty table. Being Orcs they probably pushed it aside in their hurry to claim the glittering baubles of Dwemer metal, not realizing that to a scholar the book would be far more valuable. I will be keeping it for myself. With the translation key that I found these ancient texts may provide the solution to the riddle of the Dwemer's disappearance. Edwinna will be happy enough without the book. Inside the cover, folded and brittle, I found a set of plans that seem to be for some sort of mechanical netch. It appears to be designed to float through the air. I can only guess what she will make of that.

The strider will be arriving in Ald-ruhn shortly. I will take straight to my bed. It has been a long day.

_**Day Ninety-eight: Lure of the enchanting lab**_

This morning I delivered the airship blueprint to Edwinna. I should have waited until after breakfast. She disappeared into her chambers muttering something about cogs and power cells and may not emerge to eat for days. At her door she turned as if stirred by sudden memory. "Arvil, talk to Tanar. You need a plan." Tanar Llervi has her quarters and lab downstairs. She is a Dunmer, a highly skilled enchanter, and an able smith who makes her own weapons at a full forge in her enchanting lab. Her laboratory is envied throughout the mage's guild in Vvardenfell. I shrugged and went to find her.

I told her what Edwinna had said, and about the blueprint I had brought. "Well, she will be no help," Tanar said. "She knows she got you into this mess too. Two men were here yesterday; outlanders. They didn't ask directly about you, just said they needed a mage for hire. Specified they needed someone who was familiar with weapons as well, like a battlemage or a nightblade; a heavy hitter. By the time they were done there was no one that could suit them but you. Edwinna told them there was no one in the local who could suit their needs and they left, but they were seen asking around the strider port and then they settled in over at the Rat in the Pot. We had them watched. They were taking turns out in the streets until late last night; watching. Watching for you."

Two of them. My blood ran cold. After so many failures the Dark Brotherhood is sending out their assassins in pairs. "Were they ever left alone in the guild hall?"

She nodded and bit her lip. "I'm sorry. They bought some minor enchantments before they started asking questions. One of them said he had a money belt under his robes and asked if I could step out while he took out the gold to pay me. Everything in my lab is locked so I saw no harm stepping into my quarters."

We joined the others at breakfast. Tanar got everyone's attention, then told them "Edwinna is secluded in her library. Arvil Bren the conjurer is the ranking guild member here, and we have a problem." She turned to me, and everyone else did too.

My mouth opened once, twice, a third time. Finally I thought of something to say. I just followed the hall steward's lead. "We need a plan." Once I got going it was pretty easy to outline the problem. "Two Dark Brotherhood assassins are very likely to appear tonight in Tanar's lab. They will be looking for me, but no doubt they intend to kill her and anyone else that gets in their way. One option is that I could leave town. If I depart in an obvious enough fashion they will very likely follow, but if they don't keep track of me they will likely recall to their marker here. As you know I have some experience fighting these assassins. Two of them popping up in the depth of the night is not something to look forward to, or a possibility you can ignore. I would rather fight them here and now than leave you to contend with them. Think."

Ideas came and withered under scrutiny, but eventually something took form. By lunchtime the details seemed to have been ironed out. Tanar and one of the Ashlander students wandered off to the Rat in the Pot to put the plan in motion. Apparently it worked. On a high stool at a worktable in her lab perched a sack of grain, supporting the inconspicuous brown robe Ahnassi had pressed on me. My hair, bound in its usual guar tail, adorned a gourd set on the top. It will grow back I suppose, but having it cut off was a sacrifice made only under extreme duress. A scattering of books on the table, with one open binding the robe sleeves by the cuffs in a mostly natural position completed the scene. It was far from perfect, but provided a distraction in the brief disorientation that follows a teleportation spell.

Tanar laid it on thick, complaining to her lunch companion about being ousted from her lab by that 'arrogant conjurer'. Her complaint included that all I was doing was reading, nose buried so deep in my books that I hadn't even responded when she stormed out of the room. She presented me as an appealing bait, then set the hook by concluding 'at least he will be gone by tonight. He never sleeps here any more since that assassin tried to get him. No one really knows where he goes at night, but at least it's somewhere other than here."

I could have stayed all night in the cramped cabinet I suppose, but I was very pleased when the soft pop of a teleportation spell sounded in the room early in the afternoon. I quickly cast my most powerful protective spell, then called upon the barkskin spell of my Breton heritage as I sprang from the cabinet. A slashing wakizashi had just shattered the gourd, scattering my sacrificed hair, and the second assassin was popping into place in the center of the room. I rammed my spear through him cleanly before he even had his bearings, shreds of heart meat frozen to the spearhead as it burst from his chest.

The first assassin, not pleased with having slain the gourd and grain sack, spun into a defensive crouch. His Daedric wakizashi rang off my shield as I drew the ebony lifetaker. The duel was challenging, but the outcome was fixed by magic and preparation. With my defenses at their peak it was almost beyond even his great skills to inflict any damage, while every minor wound my opponent received augmented my own health. Healing magic actually collected around me, restoring my wounds as fast as I received them. Soon a second black clad body sprawled on the floor.

I left Tanar a set of the black chainmail for her part in the plan, and brought the other here to Balmora. Galbedir may not have as fine a lab, but the guild in Balmora has accumulated some powerfully charged soul gems. I have been practicing the slashing style of the wakizashi, and even though I am very pleased with my ebony lifetaker shortsword I could not pass up the opportunity having two Daedric blades in my possession presented.

My own skills as an enchanter are sufficient for some things, but I destroy a lot of soul gems in the process of getting one to take. Fine with lesser gems, but the rare and powerful gems I will leave in the hands of the experts. I traded one of the immensely valuable Daedric wakizashi to Galbedir. One thing that makes Daedric weapons so valuable is thier propensity to enchantment. They can hold a far more powerful spell than any other weapon. Galbedir, in her turn, used a powerful gem and enchanted my remaining wakizashi for me. The Daedric Lifestealer; it is a masterpiece.

_**Day Ninety-nine: Paranoid or protective?**_

I woke this morning with the deep satisfaction of success. I think I will have at least a little time before the Dark Brotherhood tries again. When they do I will meet them with their own Daedric weapon, charged with an enchantment that I probably could not have afforded without the supply of priceless weaponry that they seem willing to throw into their assault. It started out a good day. Still a good day in the end, but the slippery slopes of Mage Guild politics seem to be reaching out to grab me.

Ranis called me into her office as soon as I had finished breakfast. The attentions of Galbedir and Ajira have cooled somewhat in light of my lack of response, but since I am keeping Ahnassi and my life in Pelagiad deeply hidden from the danger of the Dark Brotherhood there is still a pleasant undercurrent here. I was smiling when I passed through her door, even though I anticipated an unpleasant task. I underestimated how unpleasant it might be.

Ranis is not known for subtlety or slow build ups; "I believe there is a Telvanni spy in the guild; in a position of significant influence in the guild."

"Hold on Ranis. If this is headed towards me going to some guild hall and killing someone in cold blood and plain sight you are really going to have to come up with some hard evidence. Hard evidence and approval from someone..." I trailed off. I couldn't think whose approval would suffice; Archmage Trebonius maybe?

"I'm not talking about killing anyone," she protested. "Alright, I have said that often enough before, but really I don't want any action taken. I just want you to find me some of that hard evidence you would be looking for if I did want action taken."

"Then you would want me to take the action. No deal Ranis. I want no part of this. Tashpi was no necromancer. You could have sent me to get her to join the guild. There was something personal there but I took you at your word that her dying was guild business. Now you are on the hunt for a spy. Why?"

"To protect the guild! Okay. There were better ways to handle Tashpi. Maybe better ways to handle a lot of things. But that doesn't change that House Telvanni would destroy the guild in Morrowind if they get half a chance. There is a spy. That arrogant buffoon Trebonius refuses to see it; refuses to see anything going on. We Dunmer live ten times longer than you or him. The Telvanni plan, and move, and grind away at us. I want to find the spy to discredit Trebonius further. I admit that too. But that is also for the good of the guild. He is a disaster as the Archmage of Vvardenfell. I need your help. Not to discredit Trebonius, but to guard us against a Dunmer Great House that he does not understand."

I sighed. I squirmed. The red eyes bored into me. "I'll investigate Ranis. But so help me I am not gonna kill anybody over this." Then I looked her square in the eye. "And I let Tashpi go. She is fleeing to the mainland. She is no necromancer so I didn't kill her for being one. If there is something I should legitimately kill her for tell me before she gets off of Vvardenfell and I will track her down. If you want her dead as a personal grudge hire an assassin." She did not move. "Sorry I lied about killing her."

She nodded slightly. "I'm sorry I lied about her being a necromancer. You have come a long way since you walked in that door Arvil. A long way indeed." I wasn't sure if she meant the first time I walked in the door, or if she meant just in the few minutes since I came in and sat down today. Either one would be true I think.

We went over everyone in Ald-ruhn. I have spent a lot of time there, and really didn't think there was a spy. Ranis slowly came to agree. Edwinna runs the guild hall as a reflection of herself, and she steers clear of intrigue. Since she keeps herself so far removed Ald-ruhn would not be a very effective place for a spy to exert any influence. Then I brought up Ranis' own hall. It was easy to see her bristle, but she nodded. "My ego says that could not happen here, but this is for the guild not my ego." But in the end we agreed no one in Balmora fit as a spy for the Telvanni. Caldera? A new hall, struggling to get established, not fertile ground for intrigue. That left Sadrith Mora, a thorn in the heart of the Telvanni capital; or the headquarters itself in Vivic City. I came to Sadrith Mora first.

I couldn't just barge into the hall and start looking for spies. I've done a couple favors for Skink-in-trees-shade, the Argonian steward of the hall, but I am far from well known here. The guild is quartered in the Imperial fortress called Wolverine Hall, and space is at a premium. Skink suggested that it would be best if I stayed in the town proper for the duration of my stay, and that to stay in the town I would need Telvanni hospitality papers. More like lack of hospitality papers. As an outlander mage and member of the Imperial Mage's Guild I feel lucky to have not been attacked in the street. The open hostility of the Telvanni certainly supports Ranis' theories.

The papers come from the proprietor of the Gateway Inn, which is the only place anyone who is not a Telvanni retainer is allowed to stay. All very inconvenient, but at least it is all in one place. Telvanni architecture involves growing huge trees that have naturally hollow stems, which are trained and distorted into corridors and rooms. The curving grace is nice from the outside, inside it is a twisting maze. Finding my way through the maze of the inn left me hoping not to have to enter any more buildings, but that was a vain hope.

Everyone in the Gateway Inn it seems is talking about the haunting, including the very irritable proprietor. A fine room called the south turret room has been rendered uninhabitible by a spirit. The spirit can be driven away, but returns in very short order. Rumor has it that it has been slain over a thousand times. Thinking that it would soften my reception a bit I offered to take a look at the problem. My mistake; I was summarily accused of arrogance among questions regarding my ancestry. Mage Mistress Arara Uvulas, I was told, has already looked into it. Where this expert had not found the source of the haunting it was easy to dismiss me out of hand I suppose. Instead of searching for the spy I found myself searching for Arara Uvulas at the Telvanni Council Chambers; a veritable rat warren of passages.

Arara Uvulas is a mouth. The Telvanni councilors are far too busy and self important to actually attend council meetings, so they are represented by mouths who speak for them. What happens if a mouth says the wrong thing I have no idea. She represents Master Neloth, who can't attend despite the fact that he lives right here in Sadrith Mora. I am not impressed with the Telvanni. Once I had the worthy mouth's attention she told me what she had determined about the haunting. She found no sign of a restless spirit or ancestral influences; not surprising since the Gateway Inn has not been there all that long. She said that banishing the ghost was easy; which I had already done once myself. A slave told me he had beaten the spirit out of existence with a broom once, just for sport. Then she got to the crux of the matter; she had no idea why it kept coming back and suggested consulting an expert in the school of conjuration. I wanted to say 'no kidding, wish I'd thought of that', but I don't think mouths are chosen for their sense of humor.

Rather than root around the plant buildings of the city looking for a conjuration expert I returned to the guild hall, where I should have been looking all along. While everyone seemed quite amused by the problem, Uleni Heleran laughed more than anyone. Coincidentally she offers training in conjurations among her other services. Not coincidentally actually. Uleni conjured the Gateway haunt herself, as retaliation for an incident regarding hospitality papers. I offered to forget about it. No one else had identified the source of the haunting and I had no desire to turn her in. She was of a different mind and gave me some forged 'hospitality papers' for the ghost. She instructed me to give them to Angeredhel with her compliments. I will wait until morning. I don't think he will appreciate the joke, and my room is uncomfortable enough already.

_**Day One Hundred: Spy revealed**_

I joined the mage guild to cover my activities for Caius. I quickly found myself enjoying the camaraderie. I have benefited greatly from the experience and training of my fellows. I have collected dues and compelled recruits; done favors for all manner of wizard. I never thought it would come to this.

I returned to the Sadrith Mora guild hall in time for breakfast. We all had a good laugh over Angaredhel's spluttering response to the ghost's hospitality papers. Though I spent little time there I did get comfortable with the members in Sadrith Mora. When Skink-in-trees-shade said there was no spy in his hall I had to agree. I was actually doubting that there was a spy at all, but the wily Argonian squelched that thought. The hall in Sadrith Mora could legitimately be said to be in enemy territory, and he is the steward. I accepted his view that the Telvanni certainly had a spy in the guild, if not more than one. In his opinion the spy would be in the main hall in Vivec City, where the decisions are made that affect the guild throughout Vvardenfell. I had been avoiding Vivec's hall since I am not overly popular there, but after the frosty reception by the Telvanni the welcome seemed positively warm.

With Skink's suspicions backing up Ranis I decided to approach Trebonius directly upon my arrival in Vivec City. The Archmage scoffed. That pompous blowhard would not even discuss the matter, saying that his advisor on Dunmer matters, Tiram Gadar, keeps an eye out for that sort of thing. An excellent watch keeper no doubt, but I had the temerity to ask if he could be trusted completely. Trebonius spluttered with rage.

"I am the Archmage!" he shouted. "Do you think I wouldn't know if there was a spy in my own hall? Ranis has twisted your mind with her paranoid delusions." He flung a dry parchment in front of me. "Do you see that? Tiram comes recommended by Ocato the Battlemage! I suppose next you would question Ocato himself!" With that the Archmage of Vvardenfell stalked off. I didn't bother to tell him that even as the credentials lay scattered on the table I could see there was no need to question Ocato. The signature on the recommendation was misspelled. Rather than try to confront the Archmage with a reality he did not want to see I gathered the papers and returned to Balmora.

Ranis and I agreed on a number of things. The first I appreciated greatly. We were not going to kill Timar Gadar. By we I mean Ranis was not going to give the order and I was not going to march into the largest guild hall in Vvardenfell and kill Timar, even if he was a spy. Ranis, much to my surprise, did not want him dead anyway.

The next thing we agreed on was that in the right hands this credential with the misspelled signature from the the Imperial battlemage could be used to shatter Trebonius delicate credibility as the Archmage of Vvardenfell. Ranis as steward of the hall could easily get it to the highest levels of the guild hierarchy. Quite possibly Trebonius would be recalled to Cyrodiil. I was mad enough at the pompous fool that I was in favor of this course. Again to my surprise Ranis disagreed.

"Arvil," she said, "they would just send someone else with no knowledge of Morrowind. And they might send someone far more actively meddlesome than the scuttlehead we have now. Better to stick with what we have for a while and get what we want than have someone new that hasn't given us the means to get rid of him." She rustled the papers that were still gripped in her hand.

A glimmer of her plan broke through the haze in my brain. I thought it did anyway. "Knowledge of Morrowind; you have plenty of that. Are you angling to be the next Archmage Ranis?"

She smiled a rueful smile. "No Arvil, I'm not. I am ambitious, and I think I could serve the guild well, but they would not have a Dunmer take that office. We live too long and could accumulate too much power here in our own land. No, not me; and not some fresh Imperial favorite. The guild stewards in Vvardenfell need to stand up and agree on an Archmage that would serve well for us and still be acceptable to the guild."

"Edwinna?" I asked half-heartedly. I could not imagine her getting that involved in guild politics.

"No, she would not want to leave her research. And Skink in Sadrith Mora is a fine guardian for our guild in hostile Telvanni territory but an Argonian certainly wouldn't be able to manage our interests. The other Houses would hate him as much as the Telvanni, unfortunately. Edwinna and I have been talking, and we have agreed on someone both of us could support. The staff in Vivec would support anyone who supplanted Trebonius. Skink is not sure yet."

"Not sure about who?" I asked. I couldn't think of anyone else who was anywhere near the rank or skill to be the next Archmage. I also had no idea why I was being taken into this high level of counsel.

"Arvil, you need to get to know Skink better," she said. It felt like the floor was slipping out from under my chair. "And you really need to improve your spellcraft. You won't be able to hold the staff of office if you are clutching that spear all the time."

_**Day 101:Sadrith Mora**_

This morning I reported to Skink-in-trees-shade, the guild steward in Sadrith Mora. I think Ranis might be out of her mind. I cannot picture myself as the Archmage of Vvardenfell. I haven't even started getting used to being a Magician, even though she promoted me yesterday. Now I find myself in the wilderness of the grazelands trying to set up a meeting for Skink; a meeting with a wise woman of the Ashlanders. Knowing what I had to go through to speak to a wise woman I am not sure this is a good idea.

I'm not sure anything is a good idea. Caius has not set up a meeting with the dissident priests, and seems to be having some trouble with his contacts in Vivec City. I spoke to him before I left Balmora. I told him about Ranis' grand plan for me. He laughed, and drily said "Well, that will be a unique cover." I didn't think it was funny.

The Ashland tribes of the grazelands seem to have life much easier than the Urshilaku. The hardy grasses stretch away to the horizon, supporting beasts and insects, hunters and herders. They are no more friendly though, at least the Zainab are not.

Skink suggested that the most likely tribe to accept his request would be the Ahemmusa, but the Zainab were closer so I went to their camp first. The Ashkhan, Kaushad, was not interested in any meeting between his wise woman and what he would only refer to as 'this Argonian'. I have no idea what Skink wants to talk to a wise woman about, so I had no way to answer the Ashkhan's questions. They were rhetorical anyway I am sure. "Will this Argonian make the Telvanni deal with us fairly? Make the Empire give us fair price for our goods? Will this Argonian get us a place on the council? Protect us from blighted creatures and outlaws? I have no time for this Argonian."

So the meeting did not go as well as I had hoped. I did hear an interesting rumor in the camp though. The rumor has it that a mad outlander thinks he is the Nerevarine. I did not correct them. I don't think I am the Nerevarine, I just might become the Nerevarine. And I am not mad. I don't think so anyway.

I sleep beneath the stars tonight. Tomorrow I will continue north in search of the Ahemmusa.

_**Day 102: Outlaw**_

I am now a fugitive! Fortunately the Telvanni are known more for fighting amongst themselves than for taking collective action. I should be able to slip back into Sadrith Mora and grease enough palms to take care of the problem. I doubt that I will be welcomed at Tel Vos though.

Tel Vos is the home of Master Aryon, a member of the Telvanni Counsel. His tower is a strange hybrid of Imperial stonework and the huge living plant materials that are characteristic of Telvanni construction. It seemed very strange as I approached across the grazelands, and my curiosity got the best of me. I did not realize until I saw the view from one of the towers that the usual cluster of supporting merchants and services is not connected to the tower itself, but lies some distance to the east.

I was in trouble. The Telvanni have clearly identified me. While a wandering mercenary might have been welcome, a magician of the Mage's Guild was not. I wasn't in the town, such as it is. I was in the main tower, where I clearly did not belong. And I was lost.

It seemed like it would be simple to go back down the winding staircase that had brought me to the top of the tower. Not simple enough though. I went out a door that I thought I had come in and found myself on a stone bridge to another tower instead of the ground. I opened the door to turn back, but the sound of boots on stone greeted me from below. Better to cross the bridge and try the other tower it seemed.

Looking back I could have just levitated down and fled without ever going back inside. I wish I had. When I entered the second tower I came face to face with a skeletal warrior. I drew my sword and the skeleton yanked a silver longsword from a ragged scabbard. As the silver blade sprang free papers scattered down the stair from a box the bony hands had dropped. An outraged voice shouted from below; something about the clumsiness of skeletons. A Telvanni guard, easily identified by his distinctive helm, turned the corner.

I had no way to know that the skeleton on the stair was merely summoned to cart a box for a guard with more magica than muscle. I really had no desire to fight the skeleton, or the guard, or the bonewalker that he rapidly conjured, but there was no way out but to fight it out. Fortunately the narrow stair kept the bizarre trio from getting behind me and I succeeded in cutting them down. As the guard fell in a heap I activated my amulet and blended into the shadows.

Other guards heard the commotion and were circling cautiously up the steps from below, so I went up. All I could do was hope there would be some way out. There was a door, thankfully. I paused, and dispelled the chameleon spell from my amulet. I reasoned that the stairwell had contained the sounds of conflict, but anyone on the other side of the door could not help but wonder at it swinging open. People who arrive cloaked in spells of concealment are seldom greeted as friendly visitors. Better to walk in nonchalantly. If it had led outside I could have reactivated the amulet and levitated away. No such luck.

"Here to see the museum outlander?" came the gruff greeting as I entered. "Yes, it is all dwarf make. You can look, but don't touch."

I was quite fascinated by the various armor pieces, weapons, and other artifacts that lie on various tables in the chamber, as well as a complete steam centurion that glowered from a corner. I also didn't want to look too hurried, as there were numerous heavily armored Telvanni retainers loitering about. But I had to get through before my pursuers burst through the door. I almost made it. A long straight stair descended ahead as the door burst open at the far end of the room. I took the steps three and four at a time.

A dunmer in a complete set of Dwemer armor came to look up the stairs. I shot past just as the cries of 'stop him' rang down from above. I swept across the chamber and crashed through a door. Thankfully I emerged into the sunlight. With quick words I activated my levitation boots and the amulet of shadows as I threw myself over a parapet and floated to safety.

I skirted the town and continued north. I should be very near the Ahemmusa camp. Tonight I am cold, but dare not light a fire. There may well be pursuit.

_**Day 103: Apprentice wise woman**_

Skink-in-trees-shade will get to meet a wise woman; almost a wise woman anyway. Hopefully Minabi will be sufficient for whatever it is he needs. Sinnammu, who is the actual wise woman of the Ahemmusa clan does not seem impressed with Minabi, but she is the best I can come up with.

When I arrived in the Ahemmusa camp I was met with more civility than I am accustommed to from Ashlanders. They are definately a more peaceful tribe. Sinnammu is a very highly regarded wise woman, even among the other clans, and she sets a tone of tranquility that is obvious throughout the camp. I think living in the pastoral grazelands instead of on the harsh ash slopes of Red Mountain probably helps as well. I don't know why Skink thought this would be a good place to set up a meeting for him though. Sinnammu is very highly regarded, and meeting with an Argonian mage, even if he is a guild steward, would fall far beneath her.

She was willing to send her apprentice Minabi though. She also doesn't seem too concerned about whether Minabi ever comes back. If she does come back I suspect she had better have gotten a different view of outlanders from her experiences. If I hadn't come along and interrupted her punishment she would still be stuck in the Favel Ancestral Tomb, with no likelihood of ever completing her assigned task.

I found Minabi crying in the tomb. I'm impressed that she actually got there. Following Sinnammu's directions from the camp and her advice I managed to skirt a small encampment that she warned was the home of some disenfranchised clan members who would certainly attack me. Three disillusioned surly Ashlanders she told me to avoid; but her directions led right through the heart of a huge complex of Daedric ruins. Maybe she thinks the ruins are still abandoned. They aren't. It is a thriving metropolis of trouble.

I crept through the ruins cloaked by my amulet, trying to avoid conflict; a failed affort. At least when my spell did not conceal me from a passing Dremora I had time to get my back against a sturdy wall of intricately carved stone. The dremora are Daedric servants. Their spirit gives very little subastance to a physical body, but conjures a full set of Daedric armor to encase the wispy form. My own Daedric blade was a match for this heavy mail, and I was able to dispatch the creature back to the Daedric plane. My own armor suffered greatly from the Dremora's weapon; a longsword. After the battle this mighty Daedric blade was all that remained of the creature. I grabbed it and fled, using a feather spell to support the great weight of it. The ruins are home to a host of Daedric and elemental monsters. I hid the sword in some bushes and made my escape, but it is far too valuable to abandon. I will have to go back for it tomorrow. I fear I may be too much like my adopted father; greed may be the death of me too.

Compared to the effort required to get there Minabi's task at the tomb seemed relatively easy, but she had not been able to get it done. The restless spirit of Kanit Ashurnisammis refused all her efforts to appease him. Perhaps as an ancestor of the tribe the ghost felt compelled to sustain her punishment. In any event, she could not leave the tomb until the spirit was settled, so I settled it. Cajoling and charms had not worked for her, but an enchanted Daedric blade is a great persuader. I hope Kanit is resting comfortably with the rest of the ancestors in the plane of the dead.

Once the ghost was dispatched Minabi was more forthcoming about how she had been given this unpleasant task. It explained some of the things Sinnammu had said about her attitude towards outlanders needing to change, though personally I like her attitude A runaway Telvanni slave had fallen into the even worse circumstance of being captured by the clan. Relations with the Telvanni are rocky at best, so returning the slave was not considered. Most of the warriors were in favor of making a rug out of him. Impressed by the slave's tales of the warm sands of his distant homeland, Minabi had helped him escape. Compassion for outlanders is apparently not an important characteristic to look for in a prospective wise woman.

I returned to the camp, giving the ruins a wide berth. Sinnammu was pleased that the spirit was sent to its rest, and also that I was willing to tell her the truth; that I had done it not Minabi. She will arrange appropriate transport to Sadrith Mora for her wayward apprentice.

_**Day 104: Ruin of the Daedric cult**_

I can see the attraction of being a follower of the bad Daedra. The leaders of the cult are apparently well rewarded with rare and hugely valuable Daedric weapons. They have security and comforts provided by elemental and Daedric servants. I don't know if it would be worth it though, having to live in the dark, damp tunnels under the ruins like they did. Not a great place to live; definitely not a good place to die.

Talking to the Ahemmusa last night and this morning it was clear that nothing good came from the nearby ruins. The cult there was a source of evil and misery, nothing more. They were willing to give me a hearty breakfast and a pat on the back, but wanted no part in any attack on the cult. Since they expected failure they didn't want to upset their bad neighbors. The assumption was that I would be dead so it didn't matter who was upset with me.

Once again I crept through the jumble of fallen stone. This time I did not avoid the atronachs; elemental energies summoned into humanoid forms. I crept close, struck quickly, and melted back into the shadows before help could arrive, usually grabbing a handful of the residual salts such creatures leave behind when they are dispatched back to the plane from whence they came. Daedric guardians met a similar fate; clannfears; green lizardlike demons who hop about and strike with their razor sharp beaks; and another dremora. I reclaimed the Daedric longsword from its hiding place, and added this dremora's shortsword to make a pile right inside the door to the inner shrine.

A long tunnel coiled down into the darkness. I dared not show a light, so I cast a nighteye spell and pressed onward. The tunnel wound down until it met the groundwater. I levitated through the ruined chambers, pausing on fallen blocks that broke the surface of the stagnant water. The water did not appear to be deep, but I did not want a splash to announce my presence.

The leaders of the cult were gathered in the main shrine, swearing their fealty to a bad Daedra represented by a great idol that towered above the knee deep water. I let my levitation spell expire, opting for a water walking spell which would last longer. Moving freely on the surface gave me an advantage over the heavily armored swordsmen, who were hampered by the water. Swordplay is more about footwork than most people realize, and the slashing style of the wakizashi was perfect for the situation. They were skilled foes, and I would not have wanted to stand toe to toe in a match of chops, thrusts, and parries. The water was deep enough to cover them once they were fallen. As I said, not a good place to die.

I gathered all the heavy Daedric weapons and valuable armor into a bundle, with great expenditure of sweat, and feather spells to lighten the loads. The corpses of the leaders I left on the altar at the great statues feet. Partly that was a warning to any others who might opt to follow the ways of the bad Daedra, but also as an honor. They were skilled opponents who deserved better than to be left in the murky water.

Far too heavily burdened to walk anywhere I cast my recall spell and returned home to Ahnassi. She is becoming accustomed to me popping into existence in the hallway. There was a blanket spread on the floor at the spot of my magical mark. It was perfect for my arrival; wet, wounded, and laden with treasures.

_**Day 105: Skink's respect**_

I got up this morning with no desire to face the day. Curled in Ahnassi's arms, her tail wrapped around my legs, I could have just chucked the whole world; Caius and his intrigues about the Nerevarine, the Mage's Guild and our incompetent Archmage, all of it. But I did get up and face another day. Somehow I'm sure Caius, Ranis, the Emperor, the Dark Brotherhood, or some other representative of fate would have found me anyway if I didn't.

I did enjoy a leisurely breakfast with Ahnassi, and Nelos and Maurrie at the Halfway before setting out. When Maurrie heard that I was heading into Telvanni territory she fairly begged me to stop in Tel Aruhn and see her friend Emusette. I agreed to do that, and I'm glad I did. A friendly face in Telvanni territory has taken on tremendous value. Emusette is a very capable mage. She treads a fine line. She is not a retainer of the Telvanni, but is not a member of the guild either. By living in Telvanni territory she does not draw the jealous attentions of the guild, and by not actually joining House Telvanni she avoids the infighting that seems a major part of their efforts. She sells potions and charms, and does training in spellcraft. I learned a little from her, but there was not much she could teach me in my specialty; the school of alteration magics. Perhaps I could find other independent trainers in the Telvanni villages who could teach me more. I may not have the skills to challenge the Archmage, but no one in the guild halls can teach me anything in my field any more either.

I had hoped that Skink-in-trees-shade could, and would, but his specialty is in the school of illusion, like my Blade friend Nine-toes. I suppose that comes more readily to Argonians, and the alteration of the elements is less important to them in their native swamps. They can breath water naturally, and have no interest in walking on it or levitating over it.

Skink definitely would train me if he could. He was extremely pleased with Minabi, who had already arrived by the time I made my way to Sadrith Mora this morning. She seemed very happy in the guild hall. I suspect this visit will have exactly the opposite effect that Sinnammu was looking for. Instead of developing a healthy distrust for Imperial ways Minabi may very well join the guild and never go back. Besides being a very skilled illusionist Skink is extremely charming. It doesn't take long with him to get past the scaly exterior and see that he is a good leader with a good heart.

He has been talking to Ranis. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say listening to Ranis. "There are those who say you could be the Archmage Arvil Bren," he said to me. "Trebonius knows nothing but destruction, which does not serve us well, but it would be wise to remember that he knows it very well indeed. We hear that you are as much warrior as mage though, and could pop the bag of wind with your spear quite handily." As seems to often be the case I had no idea what to say. He gave a low toned hiss that I had learned from Nine-toes was the Argonian equivalent of laughter. "That I must admit I would like to see, but we will keep that to ourselves for now."

"We were talking to Ranis about you to see if you are suitable for another delicate task that we have to get taken care of," he continued, changing the subject abruptly. Argonians always refer to themselves as 'we', and they do shift topics as rapidly as if there were more than one mind working in their reptilian heads. "She said that in many ways you are ideal for the task, but it is clear that we must do some more checking of facts first. One of our members has fled Telvanni territory. Reportedly she has taken up the dark arts of necromancy. If so that reflects badly on the guild and we should have her killed. But this is Telvanni territory, and there are many reasons to flee, and many who may not tell the true reasons after. Ranis says you would be very capable of taking care of this problem, but that we must be sure there is actually a necromancer to be dispatched. Let us make sure Arvil Bren. We will let you know."

So I am in Skink's good graces, and have no new duties to perform. It was the perfect opportunity to take the brief sail to Tel Aruhn and meet Emusette. Her training has given me in an evening what would have taken days of hard practice, and her hospitality is a refreshing break from the Telvanni. I cleared up my misunderstanding in Tel Vos with on officer of the guard before leaving Sadrith Mora, but there is a deep hostility towards the Mage's Guild that I will just have to live with.

_**Day 106: Pilgrimage progress**_

Emusette gave me a letter to deliver to Maurrie this morning, congratulating her on her romance with Nelos no doubt. Funny that there was a time that Maurrie thought Emusette and I could make a couple. Ahnassi was happy to see me appear once again in the hall. Very happy when she saw no signs of conflict or combat. She does worry.

With no pressing business for the guild until Skink verifies the necromancy charges in Sadrith Mora, and still no word from Caius, I again considered just spending some time at home. But my father always said that the idle pocket deserves to get picked, so I am again on the road. Finding a master of the school of alteration would serve me well, but even my father's wisdom could not drive me back into Telvanni territory. Instead I returned to the temple in Ald-ruhn.

Tuls Valen was pleased to see me, but did question my devotion. Much to my surprise it has been almost a month since I started the Pilgrimages of the Seven Graces. I completed three; humility, valor, and generosity. Despite seeing that it seems these graces are in short supply with the temple hierarchy the pilgrimages did me good personally, and I am eager to continue. Next is the pilgrimage to the shrine of courtesy, and I set out with a light step bound once again for Vivec City.

The cross country trek is becoming familiar, though I try to follow at least a slightly different path each time. Today I left Ald-ruhn on a trail headed due east, straight towards Red Mountain. This branched a couple times, then the main path appears to have fallen into disuse. I quickly saw why. It runs straight through the ghostfence. Beyond the shimmering magical barricade I could see that the path is nearly obliterated from the constant swirl of the ashstorms that cloak the crater region.

I followed the ghostfence to the south and picked up another path, then dropped into the Foyada Mamaca. By the time I found a way up the opposite side the afternoon was waning, and I was considering another night out of doors with no enthusiasm. Then I saw the towers in the distance. The mountaintop ruins of Arkngthand loomed against the westering sun. Skirting lava pools and slicing cliff racers with my wakizashi I hurried onward, the shelter afforded by the ruins too opportune to surrender. Once the sun set and the twilight thickened the cliff racers came out in force. Gliding out of the near darkness they could attack with great effect, but my armor is sturdy and I was seldom injured; never so badly that the healing energies of the lifetaker blade could not keep up.

I reached the ruins and found the entry crank in the dark. Initially I planned to take over the empty quarters of Creto, the boss of Orvas Dren's expedition of looters who I battled for the Dwemer cube. My plan changed when I saw signs of recent traffic at the entrance. I am holed up in the main entry chamber, on top of a tower where I should be safe from discovery. In the morning I will investigate before I continue on to Vivec.

_**Day 107: Return to Arkngthand**_

I am actually surprised at myself. Edwinna has sent me to numerous Dwemer ruins. I've explored some that I just stumbled across. None of them compare to the magnificence of Arkngthand, but somehow I just never made the time to return until now.

I spent the morning listening and watching. There was a large expedition here, and they were cautious. From bits and pieces I put together that for many of them this was their second time in Arkngthand. They were here with Creto's team the first time. They had fled in the wake of his death.

Speculation seemed the favorite topic of conversation. Some contended that Creto was a victim of an Imperial Legion raid, citing the artifacts which had disappeared as evidence of a very human force. Others believed that the spirits of the Dwemer had reclaimed their relics. A great locked door deep in the labyrinth led to passages as yet unexplored, and could provide a home to any number of spirits and mechanisms. Some from the first expedition scoffed at that; asking how a line of clanking centurions could have gotten past them through the lower tunnels; a valid question.

There was a Cyrodiil woman in charge. She was one of the veterans from the former expedition. She expressed no opinion on the various theories, letting the speculation go as long as it didn't interfere with the work. Her only input came when one of the workers suggested that the Thieve's Guild could have been responsible. She paused to listen. The theorist continued, noting that the guild was in a gang war with the Cammona Tong, and the sponsor of the expedition, Orvas Dren, was connected with the Tong. That's where she cut in. "It would be wise not to speak of our patron's connections. If you are wrong and he takes offense you will be out of a job. If you are right and he takes offense that would likely be worse, wouldn't it?" Chastened, the worker went quietly about his work. He couldn't know that he was half right. Creto was indeed a casualty of a gang war; my private war with the Cammona Tong. I should have let him know before he died.

When I set out on this pilgrimage I opted to carry a spear. They are handy as a walking stick between battles. The spear I chose I call my Dwemer Icepick. I enchanted it with a frost spell to do extra damage to my foes. Strange that I should happen to return here with it. I found it here in the first place. Orvas Dren will have no veterans if he mounts a third expedition. This time I left no survivors. I don't know of anyone who can tell the make of the spear from the wounds it leaves, but if anyone can today will surely enhance the legend of Arkngthand. Another expedition to Arkngthand ended in disaster, with a litter of corpses done in by a Dwemer spear.

If Dren does send another group, they will find nothing of any great value. Once all the looters were slain I opened the door to the depths and explored every passage. I didn't find all that much, but what I found I took. Nothing from Arkngthand will contribute to the cause of the Cammona Tong.

_**Day 108: Assignment from the Archmage**_

I am now so deeply entangled in the politics of the Mage's Guild that I wonder if it can ever be unraveled. I have an assignment from Archmage Trebonius himself. I should have just stayed at a cornerclub instead of the guild hall. Vivec is huge, there must be a dozen places I could have rented a bed.

I made the trek down from Pelagiad this morning. I definitely did enough walking to meet the intent of the pilgrimage. The recall spell from Arkngthand to Pelagiad didn't really shorten the journey very much, and I only did it because I was loaded down with Dwemer relics. I guess most pilgrims don't get to sleep in their own beds at night, but once again I have to tell myself that other pilgrims might have taken the pilgrimages from the temple in Vivec City, which would reduce them to a mere walk outside; three of them anyway. The shrine of courtesy is the last of the seven grace shrines that is in Vivec City. I think for the last three I will be happy to be starting from Ald-ruhn.

When I arrived this afternoon I went to the temple to prepare myself for the visit to the shrine. Getting here was just the first part of the journey. Actually reaching this shrine will be more challenging than the previous three. The shrine is located in the center of what is called the 'puzzle canal'; a maze of canals beneath the palace. Just finding the center may take some extensive wandering, and rumor has it that the canals are home to Daedric monsters who guard the approaches to the shrine. I'm not too sure about that part though. The guiding text; 'The Pilgrim's Path' mentions that there is a Dremora at the shrine itself, and I am hoping that Dremora is the source of the rumors.

The Dremora is eternally bound to the shrine, and is named Krazzt. I am looking forward to meeting him. Without joining a Daedra cult opportunities to speak face to face with such a Daedric servant are rare indeed. Krazzt is there to reenact Vivec's encounter with the bad Daedra Mehunes Dagon. The shrine of courtesy commemorates that encounter, in which Vivec gave the Daedra a silver longsword rather than fight an unarmed foe. Even among enemies there is honor, and Krazzt represents the Daedra in honoring the shrine. What he does with the longswords I can't guess.

Following my studies I continued my preparations; addressing an obvious need. Krazzt will do his part, but clearly I will need to provide a silver longsword. Had I known I would have recovered one from the skeletal guardians of the Urshilaku burial caverns, or from some other tomb that I have visited. Tombs full of skeletal guardians are not in short supply in Vvardenfell. Of course neither are armorers and I could probably just buy a sword that would serve the purpose, but the familiar abandoned tombs beneath the foreign quarter appealed to me. Not only did I claim the silver longsword that I need, I charged three soul gems with the powerful life forces of bonelords. I was very pleased with the source I chose for the sword; if only I had done as well choosing a bed for the night.

I arrived at the guild hall too late for dinner, and even though the locals are not as chilly in their reception as they have been in the past there was still no interest in helping me scrounge a meal..Then Trebonius started in on me.

"On another mission for Ranis?" he asked. "I'm sure she was pleased to have her spy, especially since you found him here."

"Ranis is very watchful of the Telvanni," I countered. "Being a Dunmer herself she knows their ways and doesn't trust them. I've been over in Telvanni territory myself lately, and there is no doubt they hate the guild. They made that clear at every turn."

"Telvanni territory; running errands for Skink no doubt. Seems you do a lot of favors for everyone Arvil; everyone but me. For me, you investigate my advisors." The tension in the room was getting thicker with every word, and Skink's comment about Trebonius' command of destruction magic came unbidden to my mind. I was fixing a sandwich. Had my spear been ready in my hands I'd have felt more at ease.

"Is there anything you need done Trebonius? I could look for a Dunmer mage to replace Tiram Gadar for you." I said it with all the courtesy I could muster, thanking the living gods of the tribunal for my afternoon's studies. Veins popped out in Trebonius' neck, and one pulsed across his forehead. I noticed that the rest of the headquarters staff were listening, some holding their breath.

His voice dropped to an icy tone. "Thank you," he replied, the courtesy just as forced as my own had been. "That would be beneath a magician who has shot up through the ranks as rapidly as you. I have a task more appropriate for your rank. We need to know what happened to the Dwarves. Find out."

Just like that one of the greatest mysteries in the entire history of the Empire became my problem to solve.

_**Day 109: Vivec's glorious water**_

I am sleeping again in the guild hall. Not that I feel terribly welcome, but I didn't want to give the staff the impression that Trebonius had succeeded in sending me packing. When I walked in he challenged me immediately. "Found the Dwarves yet?"

"No," I replied evenly.

"Then what are you doing back here? They aren't here." he challenged.

"This seems as good a place to look for answers as any Trebonius. Plenty of very knowledgeable mage's about that may be able to give me a clue. You for instance. Where would you start?" I know Trebonius is no researcher. He is a battlemage, not a scholar.

"Ah...er...good thinking Arvil," he stammered. "You are right. The staff here is top notch. I am Archmage of Vvardenfell though and if I had time to sort out your little question I'd have done so, not given it to you." He turned on his heel and stalked into his chambers. Courtesy. The timing of this pilgrimage could not have been better. I am giving Trebonius nothing to charge me with, but gaining the respect of the headquarters mages in leaps and bounds. All without even beginning to think about the disappearance of the Dwemer.

All I thought about today was finding my way through the puzzle canal. The maze of passages is certainly confusing. They all look pretty much the same; arched stone tunnels with canals flowing down the center. Fortunately the rumor of Daedric servants guarding the place did turn out to be exaggeration, unless rats are serving the Daedra. There were plenty of rats.

The real puzzle came when I did find the center of the maze. At the heart of the puzzle canal is a great pool. I don't know if it is the source for the canals or if they feed into it somehow, but there is a lot of water; the water of Vivec's glory according to the inscription on a monument in the center. The monument stands on a platform rising above the waters of the great chamber. Stairs lead up to the platform on three sides. The fourth side faces a great opening in the outer wall, which is blocked by a field of pulsing energies that reminded me of the ghostfence. I levitated across, but could find no way through. The only clue was inscribed on the obelisk on the platform: "Breathe the waters of his glory and the way is made clear".

I sat on the top step and looked at the water. Waters of his glory? I had to assume this pool was the water, but when I fell into the pool upon entering the chamber I had cast my water breathing spell to walk to the stairs. I had already 'breathed the water' and no path had become clear. My previous pilgrimages played through my mind. Humility, daring, generosity; could they help me here? I walked into the water unprotected by spells and took a deep breath. I was sure that I was drowning, but I wasn't. I suppose since I've obviously never drowned I have no way of knowing if it would really be like that or not. In any event I did not drown.

When I emerged from the water the barrier was cleared from the opening in the wall, and a bridge extended across from the platform. I marveled at the show of power. The bridge was not some wispy construct, but seemed to be solid stone. To create that much stone out of thin air in an instant; I shuddered at the thought. Looking back, I have no way to be sure, but it seems more feasible to think the bridge was there all along, veiled by illusion.

I entered the protected chamber and climbed another massive staircase. At the top of the stairs I met Krazzt. The Dremora was courteous, as could only be expected I suppose. "Is that sword for me?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, as I handed it over. "Without it would you be unarmed?"

"Such is my fate," he said. "Some come here who are not honorable, and they dispatch me to the realm of Daedra; but I return. Some feel the need to battle me after giving me a sword, as Vivic battled Mehunes Dagon. Some of those win. Some of those lose. No matter; I end up back here. All that you need to do to complete the pilgrimage and receive the blessing is read the inscription there." He pointed to a shrine that stood near the back wall of his chamber.

I read. Once again the powerful magic of the Tribunal Temple impressed me. A water breathing spell, combined with a spell to give free movement in water fell upon me. I turned to Krazzt. "If this lasts as long as the other blessings I could swim to the mainland."

"Perhaps you should. The power beneath Red Mountain stirs. The dremora have respect for the tribunal, particularly Vivec, and I am here in representation of that, but the Daedra have not forgotten the ashy taste of defeat. War is coming outlander. Swim home while you can.

I shook hands with the Daedric wisp contained in the mighty armor. He did not remove his gauntlet, obviously.

I didn't swim to the mainland. I did swim around the bay surrounding Vivec City for the rest of the day. The freedom of movement was amazing, my armor felt buoyant, and I could swim as easily as walk. The trail of slaughterfish left in my wake was a testament to the difference powerful magic can make. As the surface of the water overhead darkened I crawled ashore near the docks and crossed the bridge into the foreign quarter canton.

_**Day 110: Getting nowhere fast**_

I like sleeping at home. It doesn't seem to get these pilgrimages done though. Once again I have spent the day afoot, only to arrive home long after midnight; boneweary and further from my destination than I have been since I woke up this morning.

Last night I took the opportunity to check with all the mage's in the guild hall regarding the disappearance of the Dwemer. No one really knows anything, but there were some good theories. That was not the only benefit of the conversations. As Ranis predicted, the staff here would welcome anyone who could supplant Trebonius. Not that I openly forwarded the idea that I could; but their contempt for the pompous Archmage could not have been hidden if they had tried. For the most part they did not bother trying. Most of them openly said that since I don't have to report back to Vivec City any time soon I should just ignore the assignment. Over breakfast I again left Trebonius twisting in the political wind.

"I see you have opted for a free meal rather than getting an early start on your mission," he grumbled as he entered the dining hall.

"Ah, but I have been working on it Trebonius," I replied silkily. "Although most would think looking for the lost dwarves to be a fool's errand I am certainly willing to pursue it for you. I've spoken to everyone here already, and unless you have thought of something to add I'll be headed for Ald-ruhn next. Edwinna is quite a scholar on the subject as I'm sure you are aware. Oddly enough I recently acquired a book that may serve as a translation key for the Dwemer language. I may actually be closer to uncovering the secret than it appears; since I must admit it looks like I'm doing nothing but enjoying my breakfast." Obviously, the expression 'fool's errand' would normally refer to the fool on the errand in question, but from the smirks around the table it was clear another meaning had crossed at least most of the agile minds present. From the purple blotches on Trebonius' neck it was clear he got it as well; but roasting a magician at the breakfast table for something he might have meant would be a pretty far leap. Before he could gather himself to continue the baiting I rose from my seat. "I must away to Ald-ruhn. Pleasure all." I walked quickly down the hall to the guild guide platform.

For all my posturing I really have no idea how I'm going to resolve the question of the Dwemer. I have two large tomes written in Dwemer, and the book 'Hanging Garden' which is apparently translated to old Eldmeris. This is an improvement, but slight. No one at all can read Dwemer. No one I know can read Eldmeris.

Anyway, I wasn't actually planning to solve the riddle today. I was planning on continuing the pilgrimages of the seven graces. I checked in with Tuls Valen at the temple in Ald-ruhn and headed for Gnissis to view the ash mask of Vivec at the shrine of justice. I had not gone far to the west of the city when the rising wind shifted to my back, blowing from Red Mountain. It is an ill wind that blows down those ashy slopes.

By mid afternoon I was swallowed in blowing ash and gave up all hope of making a direct run to Gnissis. Mostly I just wanted to reach the West Gash, where the grasses would limit the dust somewhat, or at least keep it from thickening. When the grasslands came underfoot the storm did indeed ease somewhat, allowing me to recognize some landmarks of my previous travels. I knew the West Gash has plenty of caves, caverns and mines. I hoped to find one unoccupied that I could shelter in. My fate does not run to ease however, it runs more to fortune in a literal sense.

The thugs and brigands who occupied the cave I took shelter in were not very well organized. Perhaps they thought their numbers and reputation would keep any travelers away. Unfortunately I knew neither. Had they been reasonable I would have paid them some sum of gold for the shelter of their cave, but of course their door guards attacked me on sight. They had no system for backing up those worthies, and I cast a spell of silence over the area to avoid any alarms while I dispatched them.

The cave amounted to a long tunnel, swelling every so often into a chamber. The occupants of each chamber seemed almost independent of the others in the band, and without a concerted rush none were a match for the Daedric Lifetaker that I am becoming fairly adept at wielding. In each cavern there were bedrolls and chests and crates of loot, but little of great value. Some of the thugs, particularly the door guards, were thoroughly armored with quality steel and even more valuable bonemold, but I was not willing to gather more than I could comfortably carry. I wasn't willing until I reached the deepest cavern and met what I assume was the leader of the ragtag band. Over the long life of a Dunmer warrior many things can happen, and the leader of a poorly organized mob of cut-throats today may have been something far different during his earlier days. I'm sure that was true of this man. His armor is too finely crafted.

The plates are inlaid with the volcanic stone called ebony. Raw ebony sells for twenty gold pieces to the pound on the black market. In its raw form it is considered property of the Empire, which controls all mining, so the black market is the only source, other than Imperial armorers. Whether this Dunmer had received the armor from the Empire for some previous service I have no way of knowing. Whoever the armorer was they possessed great skill. Without even considering the workmanship the armor is valuable, the craftsmanship involved makes it nearly priceless.

Priceless, and far too heavy to carry all the way to Gnissis. The cave would serve as shelter, but at the dictates of my greed for the armor I had to teleport home. Ahnassi's eyes again flew wide at the sight of yet another treasure for my collection. This ebony armor is undoubtedly worth more than the house and all of its contents. My collection of Daedric weapons excluded of course.

_**Day 111: The long road to Gnissis**_

This morning I awoke refreshed and wanted to get right back on the path of my pilgrimage. I kissed Ahnassi good-bye and set out once again. The guards and townspeople of Pelagiad have become accustomed to seeing me in the mornings, shrouded in the early mists. I crossed to the north side of the street, stopped, and disappeared in the swirling lavender haze of a teleportation spell, only to reappear in the courtyard of the temple in Balmora.

I grabbed a quick bite to eat at the guild hall before having the guild guide transport me back to Ald-ruhn. I had traversed almost half the length of Vvardenfell and was ready to walk the remaining distance to Gnissis. Then I heard the wind. The guild hall in Ald-ruhn is built of great scaly plates taken from the shells of huge insects like the silt striders. The plates were creaking and groaning as the powerful wind tried to pry its way inside. I didn't need to look to know the ashstorm still raged outside. I consulted my maps.

I am on a pilgrimage to the shrine of justice. Clearly it would not be appropriate to short change the experience. Caldera is at least as far from Gnissis as Ald-ruhn, so it seemed fair enough to walk from there. I returned to the guild guide and transported to the newest guild hall, located in Caldera. Being in the thick of establishing themselves in the local scene the guild members there do not play a big part in the politics of the guild as a whole, but I made sure to greet everyone warmly as I passed through. It never hurts to have friends.

Although Caldera is far enough into the west gash to be free of the ashstorms there was still a haze of dust that cast a grey shadow over the town. I don't think anyone can say for sure if the ghostfence is weakening or if Dagoth Ur is gathering his strength, but there is no question that the blight is spreading. I headed west hoping to break free of the ominous murkiness. It gave way eventually. I didn't get an easy walk of it; the shrine will have justice. The haze of dust blended seamlessly into the usual overcast of the Bitter Coast. I slogged most of the day through the pouring rain. I even continued my trek into the darkness, using my nighteye spell when the ground did not offer smooth easy purchase. I was almost here, and making camp in the downpour did not seem worth the effort.

Despite the late hour of my arrival I have been made welcome in the temple by the priestess, Mehra Drora. Tomorrow I shall study and meditate for a while, then complete my pilgrimage at the shrine.

_**Day 112: Hospitality of a Telvanni**_

Mehra Drora was a great help to me in my study of Vivec's Ash Mask and completing the shrine of justice pilgrimage, but her information about Gnissis' other residents may prove even more helpful. The story of the mask is another astonishing tale of Vivec's heroism in the war with Dagoth Ur. The mask itself is a dull bluish grey; as one would expect. It looks very solid for being made of ash, but I was not allowed to touch it. The mask is guarded around the clock by an Ordinator.

The mask was formed when the magic of Dagoth Ur swept over Vivec and a band of his followers who were camped for the night. A layer of smothering ash covered them, hardening into shells on the corpses. Vivec himself was not killed, but awoke imprisoned in this ash casing. As he wept for his lost followers the power of his tears weakened the ash and he was able to free himself, tearing the mask from his face intact to become the prize relic of the Gnissis temple. According to the legend he then restored his followers to life and continued the war on Dagoth Ur. Not to question temple doctrine, but I find it odd that no mention is made of any names or subsequent deeds of any of these followers.

When I completed my studies and left a cure disease potion at the shrine I set out to meet a distinguished citizen of Gnissis. He would not likely appreciate the 'citizen of Gnissis' part, but he is certainly distinguished, and knows it well. The politics of Gnissis are complicated. Due to the sacred sites the temple maintains jurisdiction, but it is technically in Redoran territory. The Imperial Legion has built a fortress here as a result. Whether their intent is to keep the peace or take advantage of the discord in their own land grabbing way is a matter of some conjecture. Adding to the swirl of questions is Baladas Demnevanni, a rogue Telvanni wizard who has taken over the ancient Velothi tower of Arvs-Drelen, located on the edge of town.

Baladas adds to the swirl of questions, and provides no answers. He lives as a recluse, having necessities delivered by local merchants who leave the goods in an antechamber just inside the door. He appears to have no retainers or kin. Some of the merchants report that the tower is cleaned and maintained by a crew of skeletal servants. All report that the aged wizard wants only to be left alone. A Telvanni so far outside of Telvanni territory was too good an opportunity to pass up though, and I am glad I seized it when I had the chance.

I entered the tower warily, but openly; announcing my presence as one would expect from a guest, invited or not. I ignored the passage to the depths below the tower. Whatever isolation Baladas was living in, I was sure it would not be in the dungeons. The lower level of the tower offered a guest room; obviously seldom if ever used, but well maintained. Across the hall is a room that appears to be some sort of treasury. I took a brief look, then slammed and locked the door before the skeletal guards could reach me. No doubt Baladas could summon more, but dispatching them would not likely invite hospitality.

I climbed the ramp to the next level of the tower to find my way blocked by a securely locked door that challenged my spell of opening. I met the challenge of the door and cautiously passed through. Standing on a summoning platform in the center of the room was a horrible creature. I learned later that using my opening spell on the door had freed the monster from its bonds, alerting it to the task it had been summoned for; turning away any visitors. The daedroth is a towering humanoid form topped with a monstrous reptilian head, with a long snout lined with sharp gnashing teeth. While physically intimidating the creature's most powerful weapons are magical, as I found out immediately.

With a wave of its scaly hand the creature cast a powerful spell, and despite my frantic dodge I was inundated in green venom. The daedroth taps such a reserve of magica that it does not bother with targeted spells. As I fled the room I could see that it had painted a vast area with glowing poison. I gulped restoratives and poison cures as I crashed down the curving ramp. Behind me I could hear the snapping of the mighty jaws.

I reached the bottom of the ramp and the poisonous spell finally dissipated. I spun to face the horror charging down upon me. To my surprise the beast skidded to a halt and unleashed another powerful explosion of magica, bathing the corridor in snapping electrical discharges. My trusted spear became a lightning rod in my hands and I was forced to abandon it as shocks ran over my skin like a swarm of angry bees. The restoratives still coursing through me reduced the damage, and I hoped the effects of the powerful brew would outlast the spell. I cast my most powerful shielding spell and called upon the innate abilities of my Breton heritage to protect me as the monster leapt in with sharp grasping talons and snapping maw.

The Dwemer metal bracer on my left forearm was proof against the sharp teeth and crushing power of the creature's jaws, but it rolled with such sudden violence that my arm was pulled from its socket. Without the magical protections I had in effect it would probably have been torn completely off. I howled with agony, but managed to slash the creature's belly with the wakizashi. The sharpness of the daedric blade separated the scaly hide and glowing gore gushed forth. The jaws relaxed momentarily and I pulled free. The enchantment of my sword struck and the daedroth's own life force flowed into me, binding my separated shoulder.

The monster was handicapped; holding its entrails in with one great clawed hand. Then in a coursing flash of restorative magic the huge gash was healed. I struck again with the lifetaker, leaving a minor wound. The creature resisted the spell of the blade and raked me with its claws as I spun away. Then we crashed together a final time.

Once the snapping electrical charges had dissipated I had unlimbered my steel shield, and in the final exchange I managed to smash it sideways into the widespread jaws. The steel flexed under the pressure, but held for the brief moment needed for the wakizashi to slash across the throat. I released the grips and let the shield fall with the daedroth into a splashing shower of its glowing blood. The lifetaker drained the last of the beast's ebbing life forces into my own flagging reserves.

From above, on the ramp, came a sardonic voice. "Impressive, outlander," was all he said, then Baladas turned and headed back to his study in the uppermost reaches of the tower. From the top of the ramp he shouted back down. "Clearly you won't be dissuaded. There is a guest room. Rest, and clean off that gore. I will see you tomorrow."

_**Day 113: The coming war**_

I spent the day like a Telvanni wizard; isolated in a high tower. Baladas seems eccentric to me and to the local folk in Gnissis, but among the Telvanni his reclusive lifestyle is the norm. Getting past his summoned daedroth earned me a brief audience. A promise to share unique knowledge is the only thing that gained me an ally.

Like all Telvanni, Baladas is opposed to the dissemination of magical knowledge and products to the common public. In Morrowind the long lives of the Dunmer give almost everyone the opportunity to pick up a few spells, but the Telvanni wizards have devoted themselves to centuries of study and they guard their secrets jealously. The assimilation of Morrowind into the empire brought the Mage's Guild, with its more commercial view of magica. There is a basic difference of view between the Telvanni and the guild that may be impossible to reconcile.

I had hoped that I could find among the Telvanni a master of alteration magic who would teach me. Baladas conceded that there might be such masters, but the animosity of the Telvanni towards the guild would be an insurmountable obstacle. Even in their remote towers the Telvanni counselors are aware of my rise within the ranks of the guild. Soon I can expect to be banned from Telvanni territory.

Baladas himself would not have anything to do with such a ban, obviously, since he has abandoned Telvanni territory himself. The Telvanni, perhaps better than anyone, see the coming war with Dagoth Ur. The Telvanni council is looking at it as an opportunity to increase their own autonomy as the temple will be sorely pressed and the empire will face a revolt from a force completely outside their understanding. Baladas thinks the council is underestimating Dagoth Ur. He also suspects that with the external pressure holding them together reduced the Telvanni will fall into active battles among themselves. The bonds of honor that hold House Redoran together, in his opinion, offer the best defense against the forces of Red Mountain.

We did not forge such a bond of honor; more a bond of necessity. Rather than strike in defense against Dagoth Ur, the Telvanni's first blow in the war will be the destruction of the Mage's Guild. Baladas deems that unwise, but with Trebonius offending the Telvanni at every turn while weakening the guild's defensive position it is almost unavoidable. It is unavoidable without replacing Trebonius. Baladas gave me access to his library, and in a day of study I have gained enough insight to merit promotion to warlock rank. Baladas may not approve of the guild, but he deems it necessary for the coming war and would have it led by his ally; or perhaps led by his puppet. He has helped me, but he bears careful watching.

Another aspect of our newfound alliance is that Baladas, in his long life, has garnered some knowledge of Aldmeris. I will be returning to Gnissis with the translation of Hanging Gardens and the books in ancient Dwemer that I have collected. Perhaps with his help I can solve the riddle of the dwarves.

_**Day 114: Warlock**_

I am writing early, for tonight the guild hall will be celebrating my promotion. Edwinna has declared me a warlock. Many of my friends from the hall in Balmora have already arrived. With Ajira providing the beverages I am sure I will not be able to write later.

I may be the next Archmage of Vvardenfell. That remains to be seen. For now though I am just a wandering mage. Today I wandered a long way, and my feet hurt. Like any day on the roads of Morrowind danger was ready at hand. As I approached Ald-ruhn with the sun settling behind me in the west I found an opportunity to stand for safety and security. Perhaps the Ashlander couple that I met will speak well of me when they return to their clan.

I met Falanu Indaren first. She was standing atop a small hill peering into the desolate ashlands around her. I turned slightly from my path and approached. She was scraped a bit, and her clothes dirty and torn. I thought briefly of putting an arrow through her; fearing that she could be maddened with the corprus disease. She shouted, and I did not act on the thought.

"Outlander! I need your help! My husband is lost!" she cried.

I trudged up the gritty ash slope to get whatever details I could. I don't know what it is about the Dunmer. They generally use 'outlander' as the next best thing to a curse, but it doesn't even register on them that calling me outlander and then asking for help is a contradiction. As my father would say; 'strange ways aren't strange to strange folk. Never be surprised.' Whatever she wanted to call me there was no way I would refuse aid to a distressed traveler.

Falanu and her husband Drerel had been headed into town to trade for basic necessities when they were attacked by a pack of nix hounds. It occurred to me that someone who didn't have the weapons skills or spells to deal with nix hounds ought not be standing on a hill top in the Ashlands. I turned a wary eye to the skies and scanned for cliff racers. Falanu had fallen down, and the only thing she could think to do was be still, hoping the hound pack would think her dead. Her husband had run, leading the hounds away from her. She thought he had headed west.

I led her down the hill and settled her in a thicket of trama vine, then set off to the west looking for tracks. The recent ash storm had left a clean slate, and the scene of the attack was fairly easy to find. To the west was a sandy ridge crowned with a spine of rock pinnacles. As I climbed the slope I thought that among those pinnacles would be where I would seek shelter if I were being swarmed by nix hounds. Sure enough, between two close set rock faces I found the battered Dunmer. He had driven off the hounds once he got his back to the stone, but was too battered to risk being caught in the open.

Drerel was thrilled to hear that his wife was alive, and for the most part unharmed. He was also very happy when I cast a healing spell that eased his own wounds. I led him to the thicket and was warmed by the reunion of the happy couple. Most of their trade goods had been scattered and lost in the frantic activity so I did not expect any reward, but they did give me a book to add to my collection.

That collection of books is filling my room here in the guild hall, but the real prizes I will take with me when I leave. I spoke briefly with Tuls Valen at the temple, and my next pilgrimage will take me to Koal Cave, which is near Gnissis. I will deliver my Dwemer books to Baladas and we will see what he can decipher from them.

_**Day 115: Return to Gnissis**_

I should have taken some sort of transport yesterday. I knew that the next pilgrimage would be taking me right back to Gnissis. After yesterday's long walk my desire to do the pilgrimage correctly and walk to the Koal Cave was nonexistent. Last night's blowout party at the Mage's Guild didn't help either. It was well past noon before I cleared the bitter burn of sujamma from the back of my throat. I should know better than to get on the receiving end of Ajira's brewing skills. She is a sweetheart though. I may just have a soft heart for Khajiiti women, but she was my first mentor in the guild and has always stood by me and helped me out. Right now being no exception. She has heard recently about a powerful artifact; the Staff of Magnus, and has passed the rumor on to me. Sometime soon I will need to journey to Mount Kand and recover this valuable relic.

For today though I trudged back to Gnissis. Baladas welcomed me back. I was half afraid that he would have disappeared back up into his tower and left another guardian to insure his privacy. I don't think I was up to battling another daedroth today. Fortunately I didn't have to. Getting his hands on the book, Hanging Gardens, was far too much of an attraction to him. He is convinced that with that for a key he will be able to translate the other Dwemer books, which he says are called The Egg of Time and Divine Metaphysics. It seems we may soon have an answer to one of history's greatest riddles. What became of the Dwemer? I suspect Trebonius will not be pleased when the assignment he handed me as a dead end makes me famous throughout the guild.

While I was excited to be bringing the books I did not forget the purpose of my travels today, that being the pilgrimage. I did what Tuls Valen calls 'walking meditation', dwelling on the goal and lessons of the pilgrimage to Koal Cave. Koal Cave is the site of another of Vivec's legendary encounters, this time with 'Ruddy Man', the father of the Dreugh. No one knows how Ruddy Man came to be. He may have been a human or elf that underwent some transformation; through curse or his own miscalculation, or perhaps even by intent. In any event the fearsome aquatic dreugh trace their origins back to him.

When the ancient Dunmer followed Veloth to Vvardenfell, the dreugh were established in the surrounding waters, though nowhere near as plentiful as they are now. How the Ruddy Man would still be alive in Vivec's time is a question that I will not be asking in the temple, but apparently Vivec defeated the Ruddy Man in his stronghold at Koal Cave. Then he spared his vanquished foe. Vivec claimed for the Velothi, who by then were known as the Dunmer, the right to use the tough hides of the dreugh to make armors. How the dreugh may feel about their progenitor bartering away their hides is another question best left unasked.

Tomorrow I will complete the trek to the Koal Cave, and reenact the climactic battle. I suspect the dreugh who choose to inhabit this historic location will be no ordinary dreugh.

_**Day 116: Koal Cave**_

I could have completed the pilgrimage to Koal Cave satisfactorily by just leaving an offering at the shrine. The shrine is right inside the entrance; the shrine of valor. Perhaps that is why I couldn't just walk away from the cave. I had to enter the watery depths of the dreugh.

The entry cavern, where the shrine stands, was not intimidating. In only a few spots too deep to wade and with the stone overhead only occasionally dipping to the water there was no call for magic. A few slaughterfish were easily dispatched. The close confines of the cave helped contain their darting attacks, making them easier targets than their open water cousins. Beyond the entry cavern things went downhill; quite literally. The cavern plunged into the depths, becoming completely submerged.

The opportunity to practice my alteration magic seemed ideal. I cast my water breathing spell and plodded onward. My heavy ebony boots gave me good purchase, allowing me to continue as if the grotto were just another Vvardenfell cave. The one thing I did not consider was that the confined space that had given me the advantage over the slaughterfish was taking on a new dimension. Standing firmly on the bottom in my heavy boots I was limited to two dimensions. The slaughterfish had three. So did the dreugh.

I wandered blithely along, picking pearls out of huge kallops that dotted the bottom stones. At a crossing of passages I cast my spell of buoyancy and floated up to take the turning to the right, again settling to the bottom as the spell wore off. The passage led into an open cavern, with tall strands of bright green sea plants swaying gently. Darting through the fronds a school of slaughterfish converged on me.

I was hampered by the water. The Akiviri style of the wakizashi calls for quick slashing movements, which were impossible to perform. Short jabbing movements, more appropriate for a shortsword or other piercing blade encountered less resistance, but the grip of the wakizashi made them awkward and inaccurate. Fortunately the slaughterfish does not have much resistance to magica, and even a glancing blow from the lifetaker blade would drain their life force and heal my injuries. I felt lucky to be in good shape as numerous dead slaughterfish rose slowly towards the stone roof. I gathered pearls and valuable equipment lost by previous adventurers. Some had probably been abandoned in desperate attempts to reach air. Bones attested to the frequent failures. A shortsword gleamed with enchantment from among the litter, and I claimed it gratefully.

Armed with the shortsword, whose enchantment froze the slaughterfish that it struck into grotesque ice sculptures, I continued my explorations. I began to wonder if there were actually dreugh in the cave, and if I could find them before my dwindling reserve of magica called for me to return to the surface. Maintaining the water breathing spell and the need for buoyancy to climb the vertical turnings of the cave were a slow but continuous drain.

I was close to turning back for fear of running out of magica when a huge dreugh erupted out of a thick tangle of weed. In a swirl of powerful tentacles it struck, crashing me into the stone wall of the cave. I jabbed frantically with the icy blade of the shortsword. The dreugh warlord was far more resistant than a slaughterfish, but with repeated strikes the enchantment took effect. The dreugh landed a crushing blow with its great claw and spun away with one tentacle frozen into immobility.

To say the dreugh was staggered would misrepresent it. The base of three tentacles gives the creature of the deep a fluid grace. With one of the three frozen that grace was gone, and the three dimensional environment gave room for lurching movements that could not be covered by what staggering brings to mind. I quickly pushed the cap from a healing potion, covering the neck with my thumb until I could bring the flask to my lips and suck the restorative contents into my mouth. By the time the waters had thawed the dreugh's injury my own were healing rapidly and the battle was rejoined.

With newfound respect for my icy blade the dreugh was far more cautious. It struck in wild rushes, accelerating to great speed and raking with its claws as it passed. My shield caught water like a sail in a strong wind, but by continuous slow efforts I kept it ready between us, and fended off the violent charges. I struck my own blows on the passing form as best I could. Eventually the powerful warlord settled to the bottom, overwhelmed by numerous wounds. Like Vivec in the legend I let the creature live. Leaving the cave I took great satisfaction in having added the extra flourish to my pilgrimage to the shrine of valor.

_**Day 117: The seventh grace**_

I rode back to Ald-ruhn on the silt strider this morning. This pilgrimage thing is a whole lot of walking and I was tired. I took the opportunity to read about the seventh and final pilgrimage of the seven graces, so when I saw Tuls Valen at the temple I felt like I was ready to go, and he agreed. A good thing as it turns out. I may not have time for Pilgrimages for a while.

When I left the temple I stopped in at the Mage's Guild hall. Since my arrival on the silt strider would be easily observed I wanted to give anyone who might be watching for me an obvious place to look. I expected the Dark Brotherhood to be looking for me. As it turns out someone else was. There was a message for me at the hall from Gildan.

Gildan is a Cyrodiil who lives in Ald-ruhn. If she lived in Balmora she would certainly have a problem with Ranis since she is not a guild member, but Edwinna is a little lax about recruiting members. As long as she isn't casting spells for hire or offering training Edwinna won't make any demands of Gildan. I think Gildan might be connected with the local thieve's guild in Ald-ruhn for cover, but her primary loyalty is to the Blades. I knew that a message to see her would most likely be a summons from Caius. It was.

Gildan and I discussed the situation at length. My cover in the Mage's Guild is a sword that cuts both ways. My high rank is starting to draw attention to my movements, especially when the guild guides are involved. Getting a message from Gildan and suddenly transporting to Balmora would bring undue attention to her, as well as raising questions about me. We agreed that departing as expected on the pilgrimage to Ghostgate then continuing on to Balmora on foot would be the best way to proceed. I will see Caius tomorrow.

Tonight I am again a guest in the Redoran hostel in the tower of dusk at Ghostgate. I have meditated in the temple and prepared myself for the offering at the shrine of pride, which lies right inside the great gates. The shrine of pride commemorates those who have served the temple in containing Dagoth Ur and his minions. In the morning I will complete the pilgrimage.

_**Day 118: Open war with the Sixth House**_

Tonight I am a guest of the Imperial Legion. Buckmoth Fortress is just south of Ald-ruhn. I've passed it many times, but never had occasion to stop here. Until now.

I woke this morning and slipped quickly into the crater region of Red Mountain to complete the pilgrimage. The shrine blessed me with a powerful defensive shell of magica which lasted most of the day. If I ever have to return to the crater I will definitely stop at the shrine for this blessing as the crater is fraught with perils. Today the magical shielding enhancing my armor was wasted on the innumerable cliff racers of the Foyada Mamaca.

I reached Balmora in the early afternoon, slipping into town over the eastern ridge cloaked in the powerful chameleon spell of my amulet. Caius' house is set directly against the hillside, allowing me to leap onto his roof. At the signal pounded from above Caius affects the darting glances of the skooma addict and opens his door to survey the street, as if in the depths of a paranoid delusion. I glided undetected through the open door as he paced furiously, peering around the corners of his home. With a last backward glance Caius came back inside and closed it to complete the act. Seeing the powerful leader of the Blades emerge from the pretense of the aged sugar-tooth is always a welcome shock. His cover is perfect.

My own cover, Caius declared, is laughable. "Arvil," he said, "when you arrived here I told you to establish a trade of some sort. I meant some way to explain your presence in Vvardenfell as you went about your business that would keep people from wondering. When people wonder what you are up to they pay attention to you and a spy doesn't want attention. You, on the other hand, have become the center of attention everywhere you have gone. No one thinks you are a spy, but moving about with any subtlety seems completely beyond you."

I sat on the edge of the bed, since Caius' sparsly furnished room offered no other seat. I really could not think of anything to say.

The spymaster continued. "The Mage's Guild has no idea that you are a spy. Sharn keeps an eye on things for me there. She says there is a pretty widespread desire to see you become the Archmage, and those who don't want that predominantly want you killed. The current Archmage, for example."

I shrugged. He was right. My cover in the Mage's Guild has turned into a beacon. "By the way," he said, "the Telvanni want you deported." My mouth opened and closed, but I still had nothing to say. "Meanwhile, your private war with the Cammona Tong has slowly filtered into almost common knowledge in Balmora. The Hlaalu don't want you deported, but only because Orvas Dren doesn't want you to get away."

"Caius," I said, "I really didn't mean for all this to happen. Things just seem to...get out of hand."

He shook his head, partly in disgust, partly in amusement. "I know," he said. "I used to have this plan about a fake Nerevarine. The Temple, by the way, is awash in two rumors. The Ashlanders are abuzz that there is a mad outlander claiming to be the Nerevarine so the Ordinators are looking into that. Then Tuls Valen in Ald-ruhn has been talking about you, the outlander pilgrim who follows Vivec's path without any resorting to silt strider or easing of the burdens in any way. There's talk of promoting you in the temple ranks, but some say you are rising too fast for an outlander. If, make that inevitably when, they determine that both of these rumors revolve around the same person the temple is liable to explode."

"You said I should join the temple Caius. It wasn't my idea."

"Join it, not take it over! Can you do anything halfway? Nevermind. You can't. I know that even though you probably don't." He rolled his eyes and leaned against the edge of his desk. "Forget it Arvil, you just are what you are. At least amongst all your exploits no one would guess you have time to be in the Blades. I have a mission for you."

He drew out a scroll of paper. "This is a dispatch report from Raesa Pullia at Buckmoth Fort. My contacts in the Imperial Legion acquired a copy." He unrolled the parchment and referred to it intermittently. "The legion has started looking into the activities of the Sixth House Cult, and they sent a scouting party to investigate a base, rumored to be on the coast somewhere. The scouting party was wiped out to the last man, and that last man staggered into Buckmoth distorted beyond recognition with corprus disease. She thinks the garrison at Buckmoth needs additional support before they take any further action. That support is not coming any time soon; not the way she expects anyway. Despite your high profile you can still present yourself as a mercenary. Find out all you can from her, then find out all you can about this base...then destroy it."

I told him about the bases I had discovered in the northern ashlands, and at Mamaca.

"Well, the Sixth House already considers you an enemy then, so nothing new there. Try not to get recruited into the legion while you're about this. With your misguided ideas of being inconspicuous you'd probably end up a general."

I cast a teleportation spell and appeared in the courtyard of the Balmora temple. Teleportation is a terrific thing for an agent, since it leaves no tracks. I could just as easily have been coming from anywhere as from Caius' nearby house. Before anyone could recognize me I hurried to the guild house and teleported to Ald-ruhn, then quickly used another spell, arriving at the entry to the Imperial Shrine here at Buckmoth Fort.

I don't know if I qualify as a mercenary. Raesa Pullia was happy enough to accept the services of a high ranking mage, but had little to offer as payment. I do have Imperial authority to march into any known or suspected Sixth House stronghold and investigate, with no repercussions should violence ensue and rights of salvage for any treasures or goods found to be held by enemies of the empire.

They also provided a bed, which I am about to gladly use. Tomorrow may be a long day.

_**Day 119: A long day indeed**_

When I went to bed last night I expected a long day of searching for the Sixth House base. I have had a long day. Mostly I spent it with Caius' voice echoing in my head, saying "don't end up recruited into the Legions." I did spend the day among soldiers, who did accept me as one of their own, at least temporarily.

The recent loss of the scouting party, and the harrowing death of their one comrade who made it back to the fort, has cast a pall over the garrison here. They have assigned patrols in the surrounding ashlands, and occasionally make a showing in Ald-ruhn. Today they didn't do any of those things.

I awoke once again to the sound of howling winds. The soldiers stirred uneasily. Everyone knows the ashstorms blow down from Red Mountain, and Red Mountain is the source of the blight. Their recent direct experience with the corprus disease has left a raw wound. Their fellow soldier, Barlad Falown, died a horrible death, raving and shrieking and clawing at his own flesh, which grew back as fast as he could tear chunks loose with his gnarled hands. I heard the story at least ten times today. As much as they want to forget it, a soldier's way is to just keep telling the tale until they grow numb.

I learned some tricks about smithing, and repaired my weapons. The smiths of the fort are very talented, but most of the soldiers at some point broke out stone and leather and sharpened their blades themselves. Warriors. If they aren't using their weapons they are tending to them. Or playing games to pass the time while sheltering in their fort with an ashstorm howling outside. I lost a small fortune. I did not know there were so many ways to gamble; pitching gold coins to see who could land closest to a wall, drawing racer plume quills from a tube, looking for the long quill that takes the pot, rolling the knucklebones of a kagouti and betting on which side will face up when they come to rest.

Even with all the entertainments the day dragged. Near evening the wind began to slacken, and tomorrow everyone expects to return to their duties. For me that will be a long walk to Gnaar Mok, and the search for the Sixth House base called Ilinubi.

_**Day 120: Incurable**_

I have caught the corprus disease. I have caught the corprus disease. I reached the Sixth House base. I found Dagoth Gares. I killed him. With his dying breath he cursed me with the corprus disease. I have caught the corprus disease, and there is no cure.

I am sitting on a stone altar deep in Ilinubi cavern. There doesn't seem to be much point in going anywhere. I have the corprus disease. Before we battled Dagoth Gares called me Nerevar. He said if I go to Red Mountain and submit to Dagoth Ur that I will be welcomed as a friend by the Sixth House. He said that the Sixth House, House Dagoth, was not destroyed, only sleeping. He delivered a message from Dagoth Ur. Then he cursed me with corprus disease. I have corprus disease.

My mind will deteriorate until I am raving, my body will grow wild lumps of flesh whenever I am injured, and in my madness I will cause my own injuries; tearing my own flesh to eat. My own flesh; Dagoth Gares says the sleepers call it the divine food when they eat their own flesh. Dagoth Gares; he gave me the corprus disease. I am cursed.

The Temple considers the 'divine disease' a sign of evil. They will destroy me given the chance. People will shun me. I cannot go home. I have the corprus disease. I will die a raving mad hulking beast.

It is a disease of the mind. I will lose my skills. The mage's guild will not allow me in their halls. I will never be the Archmage of Vvardenfell. I will not even be a mage. I will be a grotesque beast built on the frame of a man. The frame of a man who is dying. Actually, the frame of a man already dead; dead of the incurable corprus disease. I could just lie here on the cool stones of the altar to die. The Sixth House has broken and fled this place. Ilinubi could be my tomb.

Wait. Dagoth Gares called me Nerevar. The Nerevarine prophecies spoke of corprus. What did they say? I must remember. "The curse of flesh before him flees" It is the second trial of the seven visions. "Curse of flesh" must be the corprus. Nibani thought it was, and it must be. She didn't know what it meant, but it must mean that I get cured of the disease. If I am the Nerevarine I must get cured. Maybe if I find the Nerevarine he cures me to show that he is the Nerevarine. Nibani said that I had a part to play, but I wasn't necessarily the Nerevarine.

I could go to Red Mountain and present myself to Dagoth Ur. Dagoth Gares said that Dagoth Ur wants me as an ally. More likely a slave. But he cursed me with the corprus. And he called me Nerevar; not someone for Nerevar to heal; Nerevar.

I must make note of all that Dagoth Gares said before he died. My mind may grow weak before I am cured. I am Nerevar. I must be cured. To think otherwise is too horrible to contemplate. I must be cured.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Day 121: Stalking to Balmora**_

I am hiding at Caius' house. I have calmed considerably, partly because the corprus disease does not seem to be advancing very rapidly. I have noticed a slight heaviness to my muscles, and I am perhaps a tick slower in my thoughts, but that is hard to judge. Caius assures me that I seem normal to him, except for a slight slackening in my face. In some ways I appreciate him more than ever, in others I am furious with him.

I awoke this morning in the Sixth House base at Ilinubi, feeling fortunate to be alive. I slept heavily, tortured by strange dreams, and could have easily been dispatched by some passing horror. I suspect this heavy dream filled sleep is a part of the disease, and I will have to take particular care in choosing where I sleep. I face a daunting journey, and I am excluded from any tradehouse or other shelter. I also obviously cannot negotiate any sort of transport. No caravaner would allow me on a strider, and I cannot risk entering a guild hall. I must travel the backwaters and byways, on foot.

My destination lies deep in Telvanni territory; almost completely across Vvardenfell. At Tel Fyr an ancient Telvanni wizard has been studying the disease. Divayth Fyr apparently runs what he calls a 'corprusarium', giving shelter to those who bear the corprus as he continues his research. Caius believes that Fyr has found a cure, and suggests that the wizard may be swayed by supplying him with a rare Dwemer artifact that Caius provided me. I am very grateful to the spymaster for providing this priceless item, but still agravated at the tune he has been playing for me to dance along.

He has been investigating cures for the corprus for some time. I could look at this as providence, or forethought. The deeper element though is that he fully expected to need the information because he expected me to catch the disease. When he sent me on the mission against Dagoth Gares he stepped up his efforts, because he was almost certain I would come back cursed with corprus. He could have warned me, instead of quietly preparing for this. When I angrily exploded at him his eyes narrowed and he looked first angry, then pained. "Arvil, I would rather not have sent you into this, but there are men I have sent to their deaths, good men. I would rather not have done that as well. I have done what I've done. I live with it. Hopefully you will too. If you don't I'll have to live with that as well." For the first time I realized that Caius disguise as an old man comes naturally enough to him. He carries a great weight. For obvious reasons I hope not to add myself to the burdens of his conscience.

_**Day 122: A message for Dagoth Ur**_

Months ago, while on a mission for Ranis, I took shelter in a cavern. Inside that cavern I encountered what I now know was a corprus stalker. The corprus stalker, the red candles; clear signs of a Sixth House base that I did not recognize then. Now I know. This time I am here for more than just shelter.

I left Caius' house under cover of darkness, with my chameleon amulet blending me into the hillside as I climbed the ridge east of Balmora. I paused to look back from the top, then slowly descended; my pace dragged down by a heavy heart. If I do not find a cure I will likely never see Balmora again.

The corprus disease is affecting my thoughts. Throughout the day images distracted me from my journey, rising unbidden to my mind. Most of them were scenes from my time in Balmora; with Ajira, Galbedir, Ranis; at the Southwall Cornerclub; wreaking havoc at the Council Club. Amongst the familiar memories though there floated occasional glimpses that I know are from dreams. Dreams that speak for Dagoth Ur.

I crossed the Foyada Mamaca and toiled up the the trail that winds around the ruins of Arkngthand. The trek was uneventful. My skills with the bow are thus far unaffected, and I felled the wild creatures that chose to attack me before they could reach me for the most part. My goal was this base, and I reached it well before nightfall.

Dagoth Gares said that unless I travel to Red Mountain and bow before Dagoth Ur I will be treated as an enemy. I expected to be met and challenged as I entered, and the minions of Dagoth Ur did not disappoint me. Great showers of sparks cast an eerie illumination over the entry cavern and the walls dripped with venomous green magica as ash ghouls and zombies charged to the defense of the base. I dodged the greater concentrations of their magical attacks, but I noted a slight awkwardness, a hesitation. Knowing I have contracted the corprus is perhaps slowing me down more than the symptoms of the disease. My every move gets replayed in my mind, looking for the hints of the transformation that is bound to overtake me. The arrows sped true from my bow despite my concerns. The evil creatures of House Dagoth fell in showers of ash. They seem to have no blood.

It appeared as if most of the creatures of the base fell defending the entry chamber, but I was cautious as I continued into the depths. A healing potion coursed through me repairing the damage done by shock and poison from the spells, as well as cuts and scratches from the claws of the ash zombies. The passages tightened and I drew my sword. I slowed and slipped into the shadows as I neared a branching of tunnels marked by a raised platform.

On the dais stood two great iron coffers flanking a three sided obelisk. Tapered red candles burned in gracefully carved candlesticks set in ornate niches on all three faces of the triolith, which stood as tall as me. In one of the lidless coffers the abandoned goods of sleepers gathered dust. A gleaming axe, a sharp chitin spear; no longer of use to those who allowed themselves to be consumed into the cult; consumed quite literally. The other coffer held slabs and chunks of flesh; undoubtedly the freely given flesh of those who chose the corprus not as a curse, but as a welcome relief from pain and injury. I hurried onward.

In a deeper chamber I found the bells, and the mighty hammer which is used to ring them, calling the sleepers from their slumbers to participate in the rites of their own undoing. I swung the hammer, splintering the supports. The great bells hit the floor with final clangings. With the stone deadening their chime I beat them into misshapen heaps of iron. They will call no more minions to the cause of the enemy. A small blow against Dagoth Ur, perhaps too small for him even to notice, but I doubt that. I believe my actions here will send an unmistakable signal to the head of House Dagoth; a signal that I am not ready to surrender.

_**Day 123: Uncharted ruin**_

Today I traveled through unfamiliar wilderness; unfamiliar to me, and I suspect seldom seen. The Telvanni have settled along the eastern coast of Vvardenfell, mostly on the numerous offshore islands. The eastern grazelands they have left mostly to the Ashlanders, though there are some conflicts. Even the Ashlanders do not travel inland very much, onto the long slopes of Red Mountain known as Molag Amur.

I kept to a mostly eastward path. Ancient trees petrified by ash dot the landscape, and in places give evidence of great forests lost to the fury of the volcano. Pools of bubbling lava seep from the stone to relieve pressure, but clearly demonstrate that the mountain is quiet, but not dead. The cliff racers glide overhead on still wings, lofted by the rising heat. They scour the terrain for a meal, but even they do not nest here. The desolation is near complete. To live here a creature must subsist mostly on magica and heat. There are few that can do so, but around midday I encountered one such monster.

My progress was blocked by a steep ridge of cracked stone. I turned south along the base, seeking an access to the top that did not require levitation. The broken rock did not defy purchase, and I reasoned that a lesser slope could not be far out of my way. Soon I was proven correct and resumed my eastward journey by clambering upwards. I paused atop the ridge, surprised to see a narrow path winding along the base of the further slope. In the arid waste the path could have been cut a week ago, or a thousand years ago. It may have been made by the endless pacing of the great green behemoth that strode purposefully along it, then for no apparent reason turned back the other way. The pacing monster turned at random making no real progress in either direction.

It strode on great legs, each like the trunk of a tree, that ended in great round pads. Three large claws distinguished the front of the leg from the rear, but no discernible foot protruded. The mighty legs held up the weight of a hugely distended belly, arms which also reminded me of tree trunks, and a great dome of a head split by a huge maw. The beast's green skin grated with scales as it moved, and even high above on the ridge I could almost feel the jarring vibration of its ponderous tread.

I considered my options. I could have waited until the erratic random pacing took the monster away to north or south. I could have used my amulet and my stealth to slip across the trail without being noticed. I did not want to wait perched on the hot rock, and I did not want to risk being caught on the flat road. I deemed it better to use the advantage the steep slope gave me and brought forth my bow.

The first arrow buried itself in the green scaly neck of the creature. It seemed that it could have been a fatal shot, but the monster turned with a roar and began lumbering up the slope. I stood my ground, launching shaft after shaft into the great green bulk. It was not long before I actually could feel the strike of each heavy footfall. Fortunately the ponderous gait and the slope prevented a rapid rush, and shot after shot punctured the green flesh.

As the great beast neared I leapt to the top of a rocky spire to gain every possible second. Small tusks flanked the crevasse of the beasts mouth. Beady eyes glared, puzzled, from pits in the bulbous flesh of the face. Hot moist breath roared over rows of teeth as the huge bellows of the chest fell with each mighty exhalation. The arrows were taking a slow toll, and bloody froth flew forth to spatter my boots as the monster gained the top of the ridge. I put a final red fletched arrow into the beast, striking the soft palate inside the gaping mouth, then dropped my bow and drew the Lifetaker sword from its scabbard.

I was wary of the great arms, which could have grappled me in a bone crushing hug from which there would be no escape. I also recognized that even though the teeth lining the great mouth were neither large nor sharp the mighty jaws could snap with shattering force. The monster glared its fury, but stopped its hulking charge with me still just out of reach. The great chest heaved. The eyes glazed. The massive titan wavered, then toppled backwards onto the rock with a shattering crash that nearly shook me off of the spire on which I was perched.. I recognized the monster from conversations, and my study of the Book of Daedra. Why an Ogrim, either summoned or escaped from the nether planes of the Daedra, patrolled this abandoned road I shall never know. It patrols no longer.

The setting sun disappeared early behind the great mountain at my back. I continued in the shadowed daylight, but now it is near dark and I am forced to camp in the open and hope for the best. The dream addled sleep of the corprus disease cannot be stayed. In the distance great spires rise. A mighty Dwemer ruin which in the morning I must pass, or avoid.

_**Day 124: River of fire**_

I awoke this morning with the sun rising over the gleaming Dwemer towers on the horizon. The ruins held my gaze as I ate my breakfast. I fear this corprus disease. I roasted the last of my nix hound, and the usually tangy meat tasted bland. The zesty hackle-lo leaf was like chewing paper. Food seems to have lost its flavor, and at the same time the journey through the wastes of Molag Amur has depleted my supplies. The idea rose unbidden, cloaked in curiosity, but my corprus ridden flesh would grow back if I took off a small piece. It would be easier than hunting, and perhaps it would have some flavor. I was disgusted at the thought, but it kept coming back throughout the day.

A great ridge running down from red mountain ends abruptly, falling away like a cut off stump. The shoulder created at the end of the ridge offers commanding views of the valley below, spread on three sides. At one time it must have been beautiful, and the great Dwemer castle an enviable palace. The valley now is filled with the petrified husks of trees, and where once perhaps flowed a mighty river a jagged fissure seeps molten stone. The devastated towers shimmer in the rising heat. A huge bridge of Dwemer metal spans the gap to the next ridge running down from the mountain, offering an easy path to continue my journey. An easy path had the bridge been unguarded.

As I drew near I could see what could have been a statue of gleaming golden armor. It could have been a statue, but it was not. The golden armor was actually the unnatural skin of a legendary golden saint, conjured in the untold past to guard the bridge. Although its masters were long gone, the creature still stood to its task, and as I approached the bridge it drew an ebony bladed broadsword. A shield dangled by straps from the saint's left arm, and as it brought it up and to the ready I recognized it as Daedric; nearly impenetrable even for Lifetaker, my Daedric wakizashi. My own shield of dreugh hide would not be near as effective against the ebony blade, but it is lighter and more maneuverable. The creature stood, poised on the balls of its feet, blade raised at the ready. I eased from side to side, stopped by the railings on either edge of the bridge. Only the yellow eyes moved, tracking me.

I knew that the enchantment of the Lifetaker was my only advantage, but I worried about my lack of skills. I have been practicing the Akiviri styles, but I am nowhere near as comfortable with them as I am with the spear. Against the inhuman skills of a golden saint I was afraid I would be found wanting; found wanting and sentenced to death. I cast my defensive spells and took the fateful step forward, the one step too far onto the bridge that its defender could not abide.

I intentionally approached along the right hand railing, to give myself room, and as the saint sprang to the attack I countered with an Akiviri spinning back slash. Stepping left and forwards I dodged the thrust of the broadsword and slammed the flat of the blade with my shield, then continued to rotate, bringing the slashing edge of the wakizashi to bear on the saint's right side, away from its shield. Unfortunately the golden saint is masterful in many styles with many weapons. It rode with the push of my shield and the slashing blade met only air at the most powerful point of the stroke. The last trailing swipe of the tip connected lightly with the saint's armored hide, doing little damage, and the magical nature of the creature resisted the Lifetaking enchantment. In return I took a clout to the shoulder from the flat of the heavy ebony blade. Not an effective swing, but given the defensive movements the creature had executed connecting at all was an impressive display of swordsmanship.

After that first clash of blades I detected a tactical advantage that I hoped would even the odds with my opponent's expertise. I continued moving to my left, on an angle that carried me further onto the bridge. A swordsman of the saint's great skill would normally have continued to their left also, circling away from my shield and jabbing with the longer and stouter blade of the broadsword. The saint moved right instead, cutting off my access to the bridge. Its assigned task would limit its options; a limitation I hoped that I could exploit. I immediately launched an attack to try to take advantage.

The wakizashi is a very responsive weapon, used best by quick movements of the wrist to bring its keen edge to bear. I lunged, again to the left for what would look like a passing attack with another backhanded slash. The saint was compelled to shift to its right to cut off the pass, bringing the broadsword up vertically to block the expected slash. With a twist of the wrist the wakizashi whirled a graceful circle and dragged across the golden chest. There was little force behind it, but the sharp blade left a thin bloody furrow as it slid off. In return I took a hard blow to the shoulder, but I was well inside the effective arc of the broadsword. Near the hilt the ebony blade struck with only the force of the saints arm behind it, not the momentum of the heavy blade, and my armor was equal to the task. The force of the blow drove us apart. Warier than ever the saint moved to prevent even a semblance of a passing attack.

I had drawn blood, twice, but done little damage. The wakizashi would continue to leave shallow slices across my enemy's golden flesh, eventually carrying the day if I could avoid taking a severe blow from the heavy broadsword. The Akiviri call swordplay 'the dance of death'. In an individual battle like I had with the saint it is very effective against the heavier swords of the empire. The Akiviri fight for honor. In the empire their methods frequently fail against the blades of their foes, who feel no remorse at wading in in sufficient numbers to constrain the artistic movements and batter down the Akiviri with their clumsy heavy blows. I was grateful that the saint stood against me alone.

The critical turn of the battle hinged not on swordplay, but on enchantment. The saint was bleeding lightly from a half dozen wounds. My shoulder was stiffening from the first heavy blow it had taken, compounded by a crashing swipe it had absorbed from the heavy Daedric shield. I was also bleeding badly from a hard chop that had slid off my shield and torn through the muscles of my upper left arm. I could still manage the shield to my defense, but I was weakening. Then the saint's powerful magic resistance slipped briefly, and the healing energies of the Lifetaker drew upon my opponent's life force to heal my wounds. Not quite completely, but well enough to push the battle firmly into my favor. A few more exchanges and the weakened saint was no longer quick enough. The wakizashi sliced through the tendons of the wrist and the broadsword clattered to the metal deck of the bridge. The saint was defenseless as a final spinning backslash crossed its throat, cutting to the bone. I added the broadsword to my already heavy pack, and claimed the Daedric shield as my own.

I feel somewhat safer tonight as I make camp. The barren wastes of Molag Amur are behind me and I have reached the coast. Even my deep and dream addled sleep should not put me at terrible risk from the rats, mudcrabs, and beetles that make their homes here. Tomorrow I should reach Tel Fyr.

_**Day 125: The good wizard**_

Divayth Fyr is a most rare individual. He is quite probably the oldest Dunmer I have ever seen, by his own reckoning perhaps the oldest alive. As he says "Ancient wizards need projects to keep them occupied." So many wizards keep themselves occupied by turning to games of power that enslave or harm the less fortunate masses. Divayth Fyr is different; perhaps unique. He keeps the Corprusarium.

I entered Tel Fyr hesitantly. The Telvanni have not made me welcome, and I did not expect any different here. I was wrong. I was greeted by a beautiful Dunmer woman. From her name, Delte Fyr, it was clear that she is kin to Divayth Fyr, but I could not quite figure out if she was wife or daughter. She greeted me warmly, expressed sympathy for my slowly worsening case of corprus, and gave me directions to Divayth Fyr's study. Adding to my surprise she told me "I'm sure he won't mind being disturbed." Most retainers of wizards I have met guard their master's privacy as if their lives depended on it. Frequently that is because their lives do depend on it. Sometimes it is because they are tired of cleaning up the ashes that visitors are reduced to by their inhospitable masters.

I did find the wizard in his study, and despite Delte's assurances I was surprised at being welcomed. Having the corprus disease did help I suppose, as he is clearly fascinated by it. He examined me thoroughly, and demonstrated his expertise by proclaiming that I had carried the disease for approximately five days, having contracted it by direct curse rather than from contagion contact with another diseased person. I complimented him on the accuracy of his diagnosis, then asked what he had discovered regarding a cure. My hopes were dashed when he said that he had not found one. He has developed a potion based on his theories about the disease that he believes should cure it, but it has killed every test subject he has tried it on so far.

The aged wizard spent much of his afternoon conversing with me. He expanded on his theories, which mostly were far beyond my understanding. Occasionally he would pause, and write a brief note in a large journal. "Explaining my theory invariably gives me insights into areas for further research. I hope you don't mind," he said with surprising courtesy at the first such pause. I did not mind at all. My only hope was that he would have some sudden insight into a cure.

Perhaps the strangest part of his lecture was the story of his 'daughters'. It is no wonder I was not able to grasp the relationship between Delte Fyr and the wizard. She and her three 'sisters' are a byproduct of the wizard's research. He grew them from samples of his own flesh using the regenerative properties of the corprus disease. Though they are difficult to tell apart by looking at them they all have different temperaments apparently. Delte meticulously manages the accounts of the tower and surprisingly, and as I had already noted, she is friendly in a businesslike way. Alfe, who I also met today, is in some ways the brightest of the lot according to the wizard, but some significant portion of her intellect is reserved for guiding her sharp tongue. When we met she smiled slightly, a mere twitch at the corners of her mouth, then she said "You do have the corprus disease. Why aren't you in the caverns with the rest of the monsters?" I will be venturing into those caverns tomorrow, where I will be meeting Uupse Fyr. She takes care of the corprus victims.

Tonight I am staying in a guest room. Divayth Fyr says that my case is not advanced enough to confine me to the caverns. The other inmates would be inclined to kill me. He does want me to go down into the corprusarium tomorrow though. He has an errand I can do for him there, and he wants me to see clearly what it is like for myself. He wants to try his latest potion on me. I suppose he thinks that once I see the alternative I will be more inclined to take the risk. As he points out I have nothing to lose.

_**Day 126: Corprusarium**_

Today I toured Divayth Fyr's corprusarium. I would call it more of a dungeon. The caverns under the tower are damp and dark. Of course the denizens are so far gone with the disease that they really don't know the difference. Most of them anyway. Yagrum Bagarn is well aware of his surroundings, most of the time anyway.

My errand for the wizard took me deep into the corprusarium, to the home of Yagrum Bagarn. His corprus is far enough advanced that the other inmates leave him alone. It should be. He was the first guest of the corprusarium; the first case of corprus that Divayth Fyr ever encountered. Yagrum Bagarn is even older than the ancient wizard. In his younger days Yagrum Bagarn was an associate of Kagrenak, reputedly the greatest enchanter of all time. Kagrenak was the Dwemer master of the stronghold in Red Mountain. Yagrum Bagarn is a dwarf; quite possibly the last surviving Dwemer.

Other than my imminent descent into madness from the corprus disease I seem to be on an astonishing run of good fortune. I found someone to translate my Dwemer books, and now I have met and interviewed the last of the Dwemer. Should I survive I can look forward to Trebonius' response when I come back with the answer to the riddle of the Dwemer's disappearance. There is no doubt that it was an assignment he never intended for me to complete.

Kagrenak had a plan. His theory involved using very powerful artifacts to drive an enchantment that would improve the Dwemer race. Among the Dwemer there was opposition, with many saying that it would be too dangerous. Apparently, either on his own or with the approval of the Dwemer council Kagrenak began experimenting with his ideas, perhaps driven by the Dunmer invasion of Red Mountain. Yagrum Bagarn was on a mission to what he calls an 'outer plane'. He returned to find the great halls of the Dwemer desolate; the experiment gone horribly wrong. The opponents of Kagrenak's theory were afraid that the Dwemer could find themselves shifted to some inhospitable alternate plane of existence, if not destroyed outright. It would appear that they were correct.

If I do not survive I will forward this journal to Ranis in Balmora. It seems a waste for this information to die with me, or be lost in the madness of the corprusarium. Ranis will make sure Trebonius doesn't get to use it for his own aggrandizement.

In his lucid moments Yagrum Bagarn has been working on a pair of enchanted boots that Divayth Fyr acquired. I brought them to the wizard with the dwarf's well educated estimate that they are terminally flawed. Now I face a testing.

The wizard has a potion ready. He has made some minor corrections. He says it may work because of the improvements, and it may work because I may be the Nerevarine. Nothing he says even remotely approaches a promise that it will work, or even a suggestion that if it doesn't I will still be alive, though still with the corprus. My choice though is to knowingly consign myself to the corprus, letting my mind deteriorate until I am such a hazard to myself or others that I need to be confined below. The corprusarium protects the lost from the persecution that comes with the corprus, and Divayth Fyr says the victims seem immune to disease and blight, and age. If I do not get cured I may well outlive the Dunmer, spending uncountable years with my body growing more grotesquely distorted and my mind raving.

My choice is clear. In the morning I must risk the potion.

_**Day 127: Surprising cure**_

Divayth Fyr is a genius; underhanded perhaps, but a genius. His potion did not cure the corprus disease. It just countered all the ill effects. I retained the extra muscle that I put on while the disease was active, and I retained the immunity to other diseases that is a side effect of having corprus. Also, since I technically already have the corprus disease I can clearly fit the prophecy that says 'the divine disease before him flees'. I can't catch what I already have. The resounding success inclines me to forgive the ancient wizard, although I was extremely angry when he gave me the potion to drink.

No one could have been more surprised when it worked than he was. He had me shut my eyes while he administered the potion. When it started taking affect I could not help but open them. Divayth Fyr and one of his daughters were there. He was observing, dictating to her as she scribed furiously in a book. The page was headed "Manner of Death'! As I took this in, the wizard started shouting. "Look!" he cried, "Alphe, Look! It's working! It's actually working." She looked up from the book with shock spread large across her face.

"I thought this was just an experiment," she said.

The wizard grabbed my chin and turned my head from side to side. "The eyes are clear," he said. "Skin normal. Open your mouth. Tongue not swollen. He appears perfectly normal." He muttered a brief incantation. Some of the words were familiar from my cure spell for common diseases. I think he tried to give me a disease of some sort. "He still has the immunity, and I can detect the corprus, but the harmful effects are completely checked." He cut my arm with a small knife. "Look, the wild regenerative effects are stopped."

I had had enough. "If you didn't think it would work why did you give me the potion?" I asked as I pressed on my wounded arm to stop the bleeding.

"To see what would happen," he said. Such are the ways of Telvanni wizards.

I spent the day recuperating. Though the disease was arrested it had left my thinking disturbed, and I applied my restorative spells to my recovery. They require substantial reserves of magica, and I rested in between castings to recover. It was during this recuperation that I came to terms with being used in Divayth Fyr's tests. Whatever the motive, in the end I could not complain about the results. A favor from Alphe Fyr also improved my disposition.

I was reclined in a bed gathering strength for another round of spell casting when she knocked on the door. She entered without waiting for a response. "There are two men looking for you," she said.

"Looking for me?" I repeated stupidly, as she was quick to point out.

"That's what I said. Your disease is inactive, you have no excuse for your thinking slower than a kagouti. They said they have been looking for a Breton friend, Arvil Bren, and that they heard he had been infected with corprus. Lord Divayth is bursting at the seams to tell everyone about you being cured. I just managed to fit in saying that you were recovering in the corprusarium before he would have dragged them in here. There is something wrong about them. You don't strike me as having friends who would look for you." Even doing me a favor she was insulting, but I must admit I couldn't think of any friends that would be looking for me either.

In fact people looking for me have a nasty habit of not being friendly at all. "Were they armed?" I asked.

"This is Vvardenfell, n'wah! Every traveler is armed, at least well enough to fend off the wild beasts, but these two carry adamantium swords, heavily enchanted."

Their armor would be under their clothes, masks and gauntlets concealed in belt pouches. "Their feet. Did they have boots on?"

"Yes. Both of them. Black boots of some fine chain mesh. You know them?" she asked.

"I know them." Dark Brotherhood. "Did they go down to the corprusarium?" I asked.

"No. We gave them a room and told them to refresh themselves, then we would take them down."

I started quickly slipping on my armor. "Want to bet that they aren't in their room? Tell your father I'm sorry. I seem to have brought a second plague into his house. This one I will cure myself."

I activated my chameleon amulet as I raced through the twisting passages of the giant tree that Telvanni magic had crafted into a mighty tower. Though I was hurrying I moved as silently as possible. It would not do to be ambushed. I released the spell when I reached the ante-chamber of the caverns, appearing suddenly before the warden, Vistha-Kai. The startled Argonian had his sword half out of it's scabbard before he recognized me. "Dangerous to sneak up on us Arvil Bren," he hissed. "Especially with little tricks."

"Tricks?" I asked.

"The noises in the stair, the opened gate." After a quick exchange it was clear. The assassins had distracted him into the stairs long enough to slip through the gate. They were in the caverns. I trusted the doughty Argonian to hold the gate against them, but assumed they would use magic to teleport away when their job was completed; if they completed it. I activated the amulet and passed through the gate.

I went straight to the center of the caverns to warn Uupse Fyr. She began playing on a guar skin drum, calling the inmates to her. It amazes me how their savagery is abated by her simple rhythms, and how much she cares for their welfare. Clearly she got the best heart from the process by which the daughters of Divayth Fyr were made. The dangerous game began.

While I am not the master of silent movement that the assassins of the Dark Brotherhood are, I have developed some skill. I crept through the passages and caverns, listening. I had an advantage. I knew they were looking for me and they didn't know I was looking for them. And there were two of them. They would coordinate their efforts. That would take sound. Like the clicking sound of a kwama worker scuttling over rocks. A sound not far out of place in such a cavern, but I knew that a kwama would have been torn to shreds by the crazed victims of the corprus. I moved silently towards the passage the sound had come from. The soft clicks came at long intervals, barely sounding above the drumming that echoed soothingly through the caves. The assassins were searching the chambers systematically, and I closed in on them.

They had to be less than ten feet away when I heard the soft whisper "dead end". I pressed into a niche in the stone wall of the passage and held my breath, straining to hear them pass. They were heading back through an area they had already searched. It made them less wary.

The fireball I cast down the passage was not designed to do a lot of damage, but it burst over a wide area, filling the passage with a sticky spray of flame and illuminating my prey. I followed it with a lightning bolt that blasted one of the assassins off his feet, then drew the Lifetaker and my Daedric shield. The second assassin was upon me. I was surprised that the adamantium blade he wielded was a typical shortsword. Most of the Dark Brotherhood's assassins I had encountered had used the wakizashi and fought in the Akiviri style that I have adopted as my own.

As I blocked the first thrust with the Daedric shield I understood. The shortsword is a piercing weapon; the damage done mostly by the point. The Daedric spirit bound in the shield increased my own native resistance to magica, but even so I felt it radiating from the point of impact. A jinkblade! Enchanted to paralyze the target. Even a pinprick wound could leave me helpless. To an Akiviri such a weapon would be the height of dishonor. I focused on defense, trusting the Daedric shield to stop the thrusting blade as well as its deathly spell.

The Akiviri were defeated by Imperial forces because they expected to fight an honorable foe. The second assassin had gathered his footing and was charging towards us. His adamantium shortsword appeared to be a twin, and I had no doubt it would be a jinkblade as well. The Akiviri style of the wakizashi would not serve me well against these two. They would use their number, their jinkblades, and any other advantage they could create. I dropped the Lifetaker, freeing a hand to grasp my amulet and reactivate the powerful chameleon spell that had lapsed. I dove, and rolled to a clattering halt behind a boulder jutting from the floor. As I rolled I cast a spell of silence on myself, then sprang to the top of the boulder as my opponents raced around it jabbing furiously. I bolted up the passage to put some distance between myself and the jinkblades.

I am no Akiviri. I have no scruples about jinkblades, I just appreciate the healing magic of my Lifetaker weapons more. My foes may have expected me to think their jinkblades dishonorable. I proved otherwise to them. I carry my own dishonorable armaments.

In my quiver I keep a dozen very special arrows. I have very few, and I guard them frugally for such occasions as this. I was extremely lucky when I got hit with one months ago. The assassins of the Dark Brotherhood were not. The grey shafts of holding did their deadly work. Just like jinkblades, the enchantment of the arrows paralyzes the target, leaving them defenseless to the onslaught that follows. Both assassins were reduced to stationary targets, and quickly felled. I stripped them of their valuable armor and slung the scabbarded jinkblades over my shoulder. The bodies I left to the inmates of the corprusarium.

_**Day 128: Mixed feelings**_

It is good to be home, and healthy. To relax and spend the day with friends was a luxury beyond measure. A rare luxury that I doubt I will see again for some time, if ever. The pace of my fate seems to never slacken. I must either run with it or be cast aside.

I used my recall spell to return home early this morning, surprising Ahnassi with breakfast in bed. Surprising a Khajiit, especially a Khajiit of her standing in the thieve's guild, is not easy. She laughed, and pointed out that some would consider teleporting into the house with breakfast already prepared on the tray to be cheating. Divayth Fyr's chef sets an excellent table.

Once all was settled at home I teleported to Balmora. Wyan, the smith at the fighter's guild there is one of very few smiths who will handle jinkblades. He made a fair offer on one of the adamantium shortswords and I hardly negotiated. The other has been added to my collection. I keep thinking that someday I will be able to settle peacefully and open an armorer's shop. My skill as a smith is not great, but it is adequate, and we could live a life of wealth and ease selling off the fine weapons and armor that are cluttering our basement. I am beset from all directions though. Settling peacefully does not appear likely any time soon.

When I slipped invisibly into the poorest quarters to appear at Caius' house fate gave me another huge yank forward, away from any thoughts of refuge. Caius has been recalled to Cyrodiil. He has given me a promotion; making me the highest ranking member of the Blades in Vvardenfell. Highest ranking that he knows of anyway. His intention is not for me to take over running the organization, but I will be a bit of a figurehead until he returns. If he returns. He is concerned that he may face some tough questions about his use of moon sugar. Some advice he gave me today has me wondering if he will be able to make it back.

Caius has family in Cyrodiil; family that could be put at risk if his actions don't measure up within the emperor's secret service. I, on the other hand, have none. Caius suggested I should be thinking locally. It was a hard thing to hear from the ranking spymaster, but he is anticipating the fall of the empire, or at least the loss of the eastern provinces, including Morrowind. The legions are stretched too thin to really hold them, and even at that they cost more to maintain than the income the empire generates from the provinces they govern. The emperor is not well, and the succession is not clear. Recall of the legions to maintain order through what may be a very difficult transition will effectively return Morrowind to the Dunmer; to the rule of the great houses and the temple. The Nerevarine is supposed to drive out the outlanders. What if they just leave?

My final stop in Balmora was at the guild hall. I have never spoken of my activities with the Blades, and Ranis never asks; but nothing escapes her watchful red eyes. Her network of information is certainly different from Caius', but has apparently led her to some similar conclusions. Our conversation avoided the questions of why and when, but did explore how the guild would operate in a free Morrowind. It becomes clearer with each passing moment that replacing Trebonius is imperative. If the legions leave House Telvanni would immediately strike the guild, and with that buffoon at the helm our ship will surely be sunk.

Ahnassi and I had dinner at the Halfway Tavern and danced through the evening to top off a day free of my fate. Tomorrow I, like the sun, must rise to the occasion.

_**Day 129: Jailbreak**_

I set out this morning to reestablish contact with Mehra Milo, Caius' contact in the main temple library in Vivec. He had told me that she had information on the Dissident Priests and possibly the lost Nerevarine prophecies. He was also concerned for her safety. Justifiably so, as it turns out.

Rather than teleporting I opted to leave early and walk through the countryside. The beauty of the Ascadian Isles region cannot be denied, and it gave me a good backdrop for reviewing Caius' guidance to 'think locally'. I had hoped to be able to reduce the multitude of directions I am being pulled in, but had no luck. Basically all of my problems are local problems it seems, except the Dark Brotherhood, and there doesn't seem to be much to be done about that vile crew.

The cantons of Vivec rose majestically above the mists of the bay. Between bringing the dreamer prophet to justice and pursuing the pilgrimages of the temple I have made headway in my relations with the Ordinators. They still call me outlander when they greet me, but I no longer hear 'scum' hissed on the end of it when I pass. I'm glad. It is a beautiful city. Too beautiful to have it spoiled by strained relations with the officers of the law. I hope my part in today's events goes completely unremarked.

When I reached the temple library I could not find Mehra Milo. Despite my pilgrimages I did not want to draw the attention to her that being asked after by an outlander would undoubtedly bring, and if she had run afoul of the temple hierarchy I did not want to bring attention on myself either. There was some hope that today was just her day off. I went to her quarters, being careful that I was not observed turning into the hall that leads to her door. I knocked, but used an opening spell to gain access quickly, before being seen. There would have been nothing gained by waiting. She was not there.

On a table inside her quarters I found a note addressed to Amaya. Amaya is a code word Mehra Milo and Caius had agreed upon. It meant she was in trouble. Without knowing that the contents of the note would have been innocuous enough. Knowing that put an entirely different light on a reference to her work requiring a trip to the hall of justice, with the possibility of being "tied up for hours", and a question about whether the fictitious 'Amaya' was ready to return the teleportation scrolls she had borrowed. I hurried to the guild hall and picked up some scrolls, then used my recall spell to return home and prepare for what had to be done.

I returned to Vivec City late in the afternoon, this time by teleporting direct to the temple. When I appeared on the steps of the High Fane I went immediatly to the edge of the plaza and used my levitation spell to cross the narrows of the bay, landing on the shore west of the city near the Ebonheart road. To all appearances I was merely a traveler headed to Ebonheart, using the magical means at my disposal to hurry along my way. So it would appear, unless the observer followed me further on as I ducked into a thick stand of brush to remove my robe, revealing the Dark Brotherhood chainmail.

I pulled the hood over my head and donned the black gauntlets. The armor, my chameleon spell, and the setting sun at my back would conceal my approach. I levitated back towards the city, rising to the tiny moon suspended above the High Fane by the mighty spells of Vivec during his battles with the Daedra; the moon now honeycombed with the passages of the hall of justice. The door was stout, with a lock so complex that it took my most powerful spell of opening. I crept inside.

Although my armor may have concealed my identity I had no desire to raise a general alarm. I crept through the passages, avoiding the Ordinators on patrol as well as those who were going about whatever other business had brought them here. I could not escape the eerie feeling of being in a carven stone underground passage while knowing that I was suspended high above the city. Should the spells of suspension fail the carnage will be unbounded.

I found the main detention cells, and brazenly stole the keys from the guard's desk. Brazenly may be overstating. I actually crept to the desk on my belly, cloaked in chameleon spells and praying silently to the divines and my unknown ancestors for assistance in moving undetected. With key in hand I slid from shadowy corner to sheltered niche surveying the prisoners. I wondered about many of them. What crime had brought them to this hall? Was there justice in their case? Today I had no time to satisfy those questions. I avoided guards and prisoners with equal effort until I spotted the coppery hair of Mehra Milo through the tiny barred window of a cell door. I slipped inside and released my chameleon spell as I slid back the black mask.

"Arvil Bren!" she cried, in an appropriately hushed tone. "You found my note?" It wasn't really a question, and she hurriedly continued, "Did you bring a divine intervention scroll?" I drew the teleportation scroll from my sleeve and pressed it into her hand. "Listen, we must depart quickly; you especially. We will draw less attention if we appear separately, though in that armor you are going to be noticed..."

I cut her off. "I have my own exit plan. Where do we meet?"

"The Dissident Priests have a monastery..." She quickly gave me the directions, and the information I would need to gain access, then she read the scroll and disappeared in a swirl of magica, bound for the nearest Imperial Shrine, probably at Ebonheart Castle. I cast my own recall spell and returned home once more. When she is found to have escaped hopefully no connection to me will even cross a mind.

_**Day 130:Council of the guild stewards**_

I want to give Mehra Milo time to reach the monastery of the Dissident Priests. I thought that clearing up some loose ends in the Mage's Guild would give her some time. I may have been too right for my own good. By the time these loose ends are taken care of she may well have been able to crawl the length of Azura's Coast on her knees.

When I teleported into Balmora this morning and told Ranis about meeting the last survivor of the Dwemer her red eyes flew so wide I was afraid they might pop out of her head. "Trebonius gives you an impossible mission as a way to get rid of you," she said, "sending you out to solve the mystery of the age, and a week later you find a Dwemer. He is going to birth a litter of nix hounds right there on the spot when he hears this."

"That would be interesting Ranis," I said, "but technically I haven't completed the task yet. Trebonius could very well bluff out that Yagram doesn't really know what happened either. I want to wait for the translations of Egg of Time and Divine Metaphysics before I tell him about it."

"But surely," she protested, "you have discovered something beyond anything that pompous fool could have expected. This has got to be reported! The very foundations of magecraft could be shaken. You can't keep information like that to yourself."

"I'm not. I told you."

Slowly a grin twitched the corners of her mouth, then broke into a full smile. "You devious s'wit! You are leaving him out of the biggest discovery of the age, based on his own demands! He will have no one to blame but himself."

"Well, not really," I admitted. "He is going to blame me, no doubt about that, but he won't be able to make that stick when it is obvious that I wasn't trying to keep anything to myself. I will stand behind saying that I was just trying to fulfill his instructions to the best of my ability. We have to make sure that the guild sees things my way, but there is no question that Trebonius won't. He is going to be furious."

"Arvil, he has risen to power in the guild because he is a master of the school of destruction. He is liable to roast you in a fit of anger. The guild's agreement that you were in the right will roll heavily against him, but that won't bring you back from the dead."

"Then I guess I'll have to keep myself alive; won't I?"

Skink-in-trees-shade and Edwinna arrived in the afternoon. Due to her rank it fell to Ranis to bring them up to date. Edwinna was ready to depart immediately for the corprusarium at Tel Fyr. "Edwinna," Ranis said in her most reasonable tones, "you are an outlander. I say that as a fact, not a slur. An outlander of tremendous talent and ability, but you sometimes don't look at the big picture of guiding the guild here in Morrowind. First of all, do you think Divayth Fyr is just going to allow a train of guild members, headed by a hall steward no less, to barge around his tower. He is a Telvanni, and one of the most ancient wizards of my race. I can tell you that he is not."

In the excitement Edwinna was a little carried away, but she does understand the politics. She wouldn't have been appointed to her current position otherwise. She sat back down. "You plan to use this information to bring down Trebonius," she sighed.

"Not my plan," Ranis replied. "His." They all looked at me.

"We are here and Trebonius is not," Skink said. "He can be shown once again to be out of touch with events, but intentionally keeping him in the dark makes us wrong, not him."

"His task for me was to find out what happened to the Dwarves. I haven't done that yet. He was very clear about not wanting to see me around unless I accomplished my task, so he won't."

"But you are telling us," Edwinna said. "That shows that you know the value of the information. You know it has to be reported. The Guild stands for the sharing and spreading of information and magic. You can't keep something like a surviving Dwemer a secret."

"I'm not! I'm telling plenty of people, people who are my superiors in the guild. I'm not hiding it or being ignorant of its significance. I'm just being thorough in completing my task. Edwinna, I'm only talking to you because you are a valuable source of information on the Dwemer. I'll be delivering the translations of the Dwemer books first into your hands to complete the research. Everyone knows Trebonius is no scholar. That will be the best thing to do, no one but him will question that. Ranis, you told me I need a wizard's staff, I'm working on getting one. We are only discussing how I can fit that in with my primary responsibility, which is to the Archmage. Skink, you said there was a necromancer in the guild. She fled Telvanni territory. She is somewhere in the West Gash or the Bitter Coast. I'm only able to take care of that for you because I'm headed there anyway on a mission from the Archmage. I'm not reporting this find to you, I'm just letting you know that I can take care of your necromancer while I pick up the Dwemer translations for Trebonius. There is no harm in taking care of your problem on the same trip, no crime in telling you why I am making that trip."

"He is devious as a Dunmer," Edwinna muttered.

"He has learned a lot from one," Skink said with a glance at Ranis, "and learned it well."

_**Day 131: Headed North**_

Timing has become a very delicate issue. Mehra Milo is free and on her way to join the Dissident Priests at Holamayan. She is safe, and I feel neither need to rush there to meet her, nor need for delay. Trebonius and his mission to solve the riddle of the dwarves though, that must be managed carefully. I must give the guild stewards enough time to act on the information I shared with them before I deliver the translations from Baladas, but I must not appear to be shirking my assignment. It is a thin rope over a deep chasm that I have chosen to trod, but today was an excellent first step on that rope. Ranis has suggested a renegade wizard whose staff of office I can claim. Said wizard is in hiding far to the north, on the shores of Sheogorad. I could have gone to the coast and taken ship for Dagon Fel, but I am also obliged to the temple; a very handy obligation.

I took an early start, demonstrating my eagerness to get on with my task, and had the guild guides teleport me to Ald-ruhn. Edwinna can safely report that she last saw me headed to the temple to garner the blessings of the Tribunal on my journey. I met with Tuls Valen, who was extremely pleased when I reported my successful completion of the seven graces pilgrimages. So pleased that he readily agreed to assign me a pilgrimage to the Maar Gan temple. As I am headed north anyway I could hardly refuse. The slight delay of traveling by foot seems a small price to pay for such a worthy objective. I'm sure Trebonius will see that. Well, perhaps not.

The trek to Maar Gan was surprisingly uneventful. The hoards of mercenaries and adventurers who have descended upon this sleepy little outpost have apparently succeeded in thinning the swarms of blighted beasts and monsters that were threatening to overwhelm the Redoran guards the last time I passed this way. I was surely glad of that, as much of my journey passed within sight of the ghostfence. Hacking through under a steady bombardment of blighted cliff racers was irritating enough without a blighted rat or kwama behind every rock.

The shrine here at the temple of Maar Gan commemorates another of Vivec's battles with the Daedra lord Mehunes Dagon. In the center of the main chamber lies a great boulder. Mehunes Dagon had raised this very boulder overhead, and was about to send it crashing among the temple forces when Vivec intervened. Vivec is the poet warrior of the tribunal. There are countless volumes of his verses. He is a master of words. When Mehunes Dagon held the great stone high Vivec turned that mastery to a different purpose and taunted the Daedra lord into casting the stone at Vivec himself rather than the vulnerable troops.

When I met the dremora Krazzt at the shrine of courtesy I was impressed. He is bound to the shrine for eternity, playing the role of Mehunes Dagon as countless pilgrims reenact the gift of the silver longsword. I thought it was a pretty harsh fate, but Krazzt was very accepting of it. At one point I remember him saying "it could be worse". Now I see how.

Another Dremora is similarly bound at the shrine of the rock, also playing the part of Mehunes Dagon. Anhaedra stood quietly while I read the plaque on the stone. As I turned to him I saw a flicker of malicious hope in the wispy eyes visible through the slits of the Daedric helm. The flicker was quickly extinguished as a priest appeared at my side and said "Would you like the blessing of the Tribunal before the reenactment?"

I accepted his offer and received the blessing; a powerful spell of sanctuary that improved my reflexes such that I would be very difficult to strike in combat. The dremora spat at my feet. "Blessing or no, I, Anhaedra, will slice you to pieces and feed you to the maggots." Where Krazzt was bound to the shrine of courtesy and received an endless stream of silver longswords from pilgrims, Anhaedra was doomed for eternity to be taunted; mostly by pilgrims heavily protected by the blessings of the temple. I could hardly blame him for his bitterness. After a few barbed comments, no doubt feeble among what he has heard through the ages, the dremora drew his sword. We exchanged some desultory thrusts and I dispatched him to the plane of the Daedra; temporarily. He will be returned to face yet another pilgrim, perhaps as early as tomorrow. I do not envy his fate.

I do not envy his fate, though it does offer a sense of certainty. My own fate is an open question, a question that haunts me as I take to bed here in the tradehouse.

_**Day 132: House of Missun Akin**_

I set out from Maar Gan this morning, once again headed northward. From Maar Gan there really did not appear to be any faster way so I left on foot. Had I anticipated being halted by a dust storm before the sun had reached its noon peak I would perhaps have traveled a different way. Probably not. In any case, the result has turned out very well.

The winds were just beginning to pick up, but the signs were clearly indicating that I should find shelter. I was still in the rugged foothills of Red Mountain, and hoped to find a cave or other suitable place, preferably unoccupied. I considered the various familiar caverns of the northern Ashlands, but I had previously approached them from the north and was not sure I could find them coming from the opposite direction even if I could reach them before the storm hit.

As I plodded onward down the hills I came upon the slithering tracks of kwama foragers, the wormlike scavengers that gather food for a kwama colony. Though they can travel far afield I had hope that there would be a kwama colony nearby; perhaps even an egg mine cultivated by the locals. Sight of a scrib scrabbling over the shale slopes improved my chances. The baby kwama forage freely, but do not travel as far as the foragers. I was considering whether or not to take a shot at the creature with my bow. They are a tempting target, with muscles that dry to an excellent and nourishing jerky and filled with a jelly that serves marvelously on toast or in a sandwich.

The range was great though, and even though they are over two feet long they are low to the ground and can be difficult to hit from a distance. Difficult for me, and I am getting very skilled with a bow. Or so I thought. As I moved quietly towards the scrib; not really creeping as they are not easily scared off, the morning was split by the singing of an arrow cutting the air. The scrib convulsed once, the thin neck with its scaly plating cleanly severed, the head rolling free.

A voice rang out from a nearby hilltop. "I did not want to steal your kill, but from that angle you could only have taken a body shot and wasted half the jelly anyway. This way there is plenty for both of us, unless you would rather fight for it?" I considered my exposed position, and the range from which my potential adversary had slain the scrib, and opted for discretion.

"No, there is no need to fight. In fact you are welcome to all of the jelly and meat. I am more in need of finding shelter. The wind from Red Mountain blows ill, and I'm sure the ash will follow."

The Dunmer archer was striding down the hill. He was tall and distinguished, with graying hair worn long. His armor, made from the chitinous plates of local insects, gave him a scaly appearance that could pass at a glance for one of the abandoned husks left behind when they molt; or die. "I am Missun Akin outlander, and unlike many in the Ashlands I bid you welcome," he called out, but I noted that his bow was still very much at the ready. Suspecting that an exchange from any distance would be no contest anyway I slung my own. Missun Akin stopped his approach and slipped his own bow over his shoulder. "With your armor and blades you have the look of a dangerous man outlander, but an honest one."

"I prefer Arvil Bren to outlander, and I am a clanfriend of the Urshilaku," I called back, then added "I am honored to meet an archer of such skill."

"I too am a friend to the Urshilaku, though I don't see as much of them as I used to, or would like to. Come then Arvil Bren. You carry the scrib, I will offer you my home as shelter against the coming storm." I picked up the eight legged carcass, Missun picked up the round head in his right hand and unslung his bow with his left. "Practice Arvil Bren, practice." The head flew into the air in a high arc. When it landed three arrows had pierced it, crossing within at square angles. There was not much for me to say.

I followed the Ashlander over a nearby ridge. I was expecting to weather the storm in a yurt, the sturdy tents of hide favored by the Ashland tribes. As we topped the ridge I could see that our path led directly to a looming fortress of ominous black stone. "Falasmaryon," said my host, "a citadel from the most ancient days of Velothi glory." Velothi, the ancestors of the modern Dunmer, contemporaries of the Dwemer; sometimes allies, sometimes foes. "Atop the main bulwark there is a large fortress, a propylon chamber, and a small house of stone. I live in the house. We need to be inside when the storm hits. I have bad neighbors." We made it easily despite my many questions. "We can talk inside," was the only answer.

The house is small but comfortable, and definitely sturdy, having stood for uncounted ages. We cleaned the scrib, enjoying the jelly and putting the meat to dry on a rack high over the fire. Missun answered my questions in depth.

He had adapted the round building that is his house. It had likely been built to serve as a duty room. Missun has lived here for two centuries. Hunting provides his basic needs, and he trades hides and shells to the Urshilaku for whatever he cannot make for himself. He is an Ashlander born and raised, and the spare surroundings are more than sufficient for his simple needs.

The slightly larger square building in the compound is the propylon chamber. Missun explained that the Dwemer had assisted in the construction of this and other citadels, and provided a transportation link between them, somewhat like the guild guides provide between mage guild halls. The propylon system though, being of Dwemer manufacture, uses machinery to harness the magica for teleportation rather than human spellcasters. Inside the chamber are two great structures; bare ribs that outline spheres with platforms at the base. Inside the sphere defined by the ribs the channeled voidstream flows in a continuous cascade of energy. Apparently each sphere is keyed to a particular destination, and requires a specific artifact called an index to be activated. Missun has no idea where to find such an index, but has heard rumors that the system still works.

Which brought our conversation to by far the largest structure atop the vast stone base; the fortress itself. The fortress which houses the reason Missun seldom sees the Urshilaku traders any more; his bad neighbors; the Sixth House cult. I was glad to enjoy the hospitality of his home. Above the roar of the gritty wind against the stone the wail of ash monsters and the deep toll of bells can be heard outside. The hours chafed on me while the minions of Dagoth Ur reigned under cover of the storm, and now I cannot sleep.

_**Day 133: Fortress of the Sixth House**_

The ashstorm ended with the dawn. Missun Akin and I shared a quiet breakfast of scrib jerky and kwama eggs. I asked him about his neighbors. I could not imagine how he slept through the wailing of the dreamers as they descended into the madness of the corprus disease. The answer is that he doesn't sleep through it.

Most of the time the leaders of the cult keep the dreamers inside the fortress, only when the ashstorms blow do they allow the monsters to stalk the land. The roaring winds blasting their load of gritty ash against the stone is too much to sleep through then anyway. While he is no ally of Dagoth Ur the master archer has no interest in delving into the business of the cult. He fears the corprus disease; a justifiable fear.

"Missun," I said, "I also am no ally of Dagoth Ur. In fact I am a sworn blood enemy. Before I move on I need to visit that fortress."

"I did not take you for a fool Arvil Bren," he replied. "To enter the fortress is death, either quick or slow. The Dagoth who heads the cult will curse you with corprus if his minions don't kill you first."

"Dagoth Ur thinks I am the Nerevarine. One of his Dagoths already gave me the corprus. That is the least of my worries here. I am worried about what sort of creatures I will have to face. Is the fortress just a den of dreamers, or do the ash minions of Red Mountain gather there?"

"You...had the corprus?" the archer asked slowly. "The corprus disease?"

"Yes, I did. In fact I still do, but only a few of the symptoms are active, the rest of the curse has been undone."

"Undone? Corprus doesn't just get 'undone'. What makes you think you had the corprus?"

"The Dagoth of the Sixth House who gave it to me told me what it was, and why he gave it to me. It was supposed to force me to Red Mountain to bow to Dagoth Ur. Instead I went to Tel Fyr; to the corprusarium there."

Archers are not cowards, though some devoted swordsmen might call them that. They are wise warriors who choose their battles to slant in their favor. Through his centuries of life the master archer has gathered a vast trove of wisdom. "The proof of this mad tale will be when you walk out of the fortress. If you do." He told me as much as he knew of the dangers within.

Although I am not the master that Missun Akin is I am fairly skilled, and the layout of the fortress played in my favor. There are sufficient long straight halls to provide opportune shots, and those afflicted with the corprus are not fast, or smart. Those I did not catch in the halls I could lure out from their chambers. While some had great strength due to the ravages of the disease these lowest minions were little danger to me. But with time the servants of the Sixth House transcend the disease they voluntarily take on.

These ascended sleepers channel powerful magica; the destructive spells of House Dagoth. In confronting these horrors the tables turned. The confinement of the narrow halls made it impossible for me to avoid the blasts of their spells, and their massive misshapen bodies took a lot of punishment before collapsing to the ground. Fortunately those massive bodies are almost impossible to miss from any reasonable range, and collapse they did.

Sometimes rushing to the charge, sometimes creeping stealthily, I made my way deeper and deeper into the ancient fortress. The accursed creatures of Red Mountain assailed me; ash zombies with their rending lifeless claws, ash ghouls with command of spellcraft similar to the ascended sleepers but without their bloated and slow moving bodies. I prayed that this fortress being so close to the evil source, Red Mountain, would not be home to the dreaded ash vampires. In that I was blessed, or lucky.

Eventually I fought through and gained the central chamber to confront the Dagoth, head of the cult in this base. Black beady eyes glared from either side of the extended ash grey snout. "You," it hissed. "Until you bow at Red Mountain you are branded enemy, and must be slain. I will be greatly rewarded for this."

"You would be better served to deliver a message to your master, and live," I shot back with far more confidence than I actually felt. "I'm sure he will sense your death, and that will tell him something, but I would rather he heard my words. I will not bow. I am not the Nerevarine, but the times call for the Nerevarine to appear, and that might mean that I will become the Nerevarine. His curse on me is foiled. If I go to Red Mountain it will be by my choice, not his, and it will be to kill him, not bow."

"You talk of killing the undying one Breton. You are not the Nerevarine. Nerevar would not be so stupid. I will deliver your head to Dagoth Ur; not your message." Powerful legs flexed under the monster's robes and it leapt to the attack. Green venomous magica gathered on the long grasping fingers and dripped from the claws. I staggered backwards under the onslaught, fending the ravening beast off with my shield. The venom scourged my forearm as the monster grabbed my shield and tore it from my grasp. I dodged and rolled away. The Daedric shield crashed against the wall, flung furiously aside.

I gained my feet and cast a summoning spell. I am not well practiced at conjurations, but fortune continued to smile upon me. The spell worked, and a powerful Daedric spirit entered our plane, taking the form of a mighty spear. I wheeled on my foe, the long shaft taking a whistling arc. The Dagoth leapt high in the air to clear the slicing blade. With a roar it unleashed a great gout of elemental flame. My breastplate of dreugh skin is very tough, but the hide of the aquatic dreugh is not conditioned to resist fire. It stiffened in the blazing heat, pressing unmercifully into my charring flesh as I tried to escape the blast. The spear clattered to the floor as I cast a healing spell, and the monster was upon me.

The healing spell took effect, and further incantations spilled from my blistered lips. A shell of frosty magical energy swirled around me an instant before the grasping arms of the Dagoth could enfold me. The beast roared in pain when the freezing cold ravaged the ashy flesh. I slipped free. The room shimmered in my vision through the icy swirl that continued around me. I shifted the tone of my spells to call upon my own school of destructive magica, forming a frost bolt that smashed devastatingly against the already tortured Dagoth. The creature staggered. I continued weaving the spells that held open the rift to the elemental plane of frost and charged to the attack.

I grappled the beast. My soft grip against the hardened talons of my enemy would seem to be no match, but the boundaries of the planes had been split wide. Frost energy flowed around me in a protective barrier, and gathered to devastating effect in my hands. The horrible Dagoth roared its last as brittle skin and chunks of frozen ash sloughed away from its bones. The destruction of the magically charged minion of Dagoth Ur sent a ripple through the voidstreams. It shook me. Missun Akin sensed it in his stone house. I'm sure Dagoth Ur could feel it as well. The battle is joined.

_**Day 134: Prisoner of the Orcs**_

It is amazing how events can reverse the fortunes of the world. In High Rock I was a lad of no social standing. Like all Bretons I had a knack for magic, and picked up some spells here and there. Formal training was not an option for me. My adopted father taught me what he could, but his quick hands were more likely to delve into a passing pocket than weave the drifting threads of magica into some useful form. I was born, I assume, to the peasantry, and went downhill from there.

The elite of Breton society guard their secrets. Many nights I watched as mighty wizards gathered for great galas. I would tag along as my father and his fellows, members of the thieve's guild who I always knew as my uncles and aunts, made what they could, sometimes legally by hiring themselves out to do what work there was to do; more often through some minor pilferage.

Often at the center of the celebration some lad or lass would be being welcomed into society at their coming of age. I would dream of what it would have been like to be born of such nobility. To be raised by mighty wizards; to have access to their libraries; I longed for the privileges, the wealth, the security that power brings in High Rock. But if I ever crossed paths with any of the lofty elite the best I could hope for would be to stay beneath their notice. Were I to return to High Rock the skills with magica I have developed could not help but be noticed, but with my lowly heritage I could never join that society.

In Morrowind that has made no difference. Here I am in line, perhaps, to be the Archmage of the Mage's Guild. Arvil Bren, arriving as the penniless son of unknown parents, has the potential to become the Archmage, and the temerity to plot for it. And in Morrowind the daughter of the most legendary alchemist in High Rock becomes a slave.

I took my leave of Missun Akin this morning. He was glad to have had the company and happy to have seen the last of the Sixth House base, but clearly knew that having me around would be very unsafe. Dagoth Ur's minions will come for me; there is no question about that. In looting their base I set aside anything that the Urshilaku would trade for and left it with Missun as compensation for his trouble. I don't expect he will have any. Dagoth Ur will know I have moved on. Some high quality armor and weapons I kept for myself. Fortunately among them was a long spear with a silver blade. I kept it as much for a walking stick as a weapon, but it felt good to again have a spear in my hands. Despite al the practicing I've been doing with various swords it is a spear I feel most comfortable with.

I had not gone far when I was beset by an orc war party. Four of the green skinned barbarians erupted roaring down a hill in a wild display of axes. They expected me to be intimidated, and I admit that I was. They called for my immediate surrender expecting me to comply. I would not. I could imagine no good end to any captivity they might apply to me. A ransom could perhaps be arranged, but not before the minions of Dagoth Ur came calling.

The orcs clearly entered the fray with no plan beyond me surrendering in the face of their wild charge. The least forethought, or even a smattering of common sense once the battle was joined, and the four to one odds would have been insurmountable. Fortunately orcs are known for neither of those qualities. Their tightly massed charge hampered their axes, and made it impossible to avoid my set spear. Their charge ended with two in a tangled heap from having collided with each other and one thrashing feebly on the ground trying to fit his entrails back in through the gaping wound left when he impaled himself on my point. The fourth had skidded to a halt casting spells that wove a defensive field around him.

I pressed the advantage patiently. Short jabs of the spear did little damage, but kept the two warriors from ever regaining solid footing. Orcs are fierce, and strong, but the battle lust can make them a bit clumsy. Keeping them enraged and off balance easily carried the day. Even the relatively smart one, who had avoided the calamity of the initial charge, bellowed rage and waded in once he had cast his spells, only to be knocked aside by one of his lurching companions. The fight was over almost before it began; the four orcs dispatched and myself barely winded.

That would have been the end of it, except for something one of the orcs said to another as they lay dying in the dust. "You see Gro-Mok, we should have sacrificed the woman to Molag Bal." If they had left a prisoner somewhere I clearly could not abandon them. Whatever the predations of the orcs, with them slain I feared their captive would be left to starve. I was wrong. The war party was a part of a much larger band. When I backtrailed them to their base I found a thriving community. Fortunately most of them were indoors avoiding the afternoon heat.

Having just come from Falasmaryon I recognized the ancient Dunmer construction. The camp consisted of stone domes much like Missun Akin's house, and the largest structure was a duplicate of the propylon chamber. The ancient ashpit, sacred to the Dunmer, was now filled with offal and refuse and lay desecrated under the baleful gaze of a large statue of Molag Bal. Fortunately the heavy construction of the domes precluded any raising of alarm during the slaying of the guard, and the subsequent conflicts inside the domes. Seven more orcs fell to my spear. Finally I raised a heavy bar from the door of what did turn out to be a propylon chamber as well as a prison cell.

I had seen Abelle Chriditte once before. Her father had one of my 'uncles' whipped for the way that he had looked at her as she walked from her coach to a grand ball. Looking back I realize that night was a formative event in my young life. She does not remember it at all. A peasant being whipped for looking at her was not a remarkable enough event. At first she was overjoyed to see a fellow Breton. When she realized what sort of Breton I am she clearly did not rate me much higher than the orcs.

I left her in the propylon chamber. The orcs had actually provided her a reasonable level of rough comfort, she has food, and she should be safe enough. In her view I was obligated to drop whatever I was doing and escort her to Sadrith Mora, her destination when her ship was wrecked. I made it clear that she would likely not survive two days in the Ashlands alone, and said I would return for her. Our conversation ended badly. I couldn't help myself. As she continued to alternately berate me and demand service I finally snapped, and with a wave towards the large heap of armor I had piled in the corner I said "Keep that safe if you know what's good for you, that is really all I'm coming back for."

I slammed the door and stalked into one of the other houses to rest, mad at myself. I have long believed rude behavior is the curse of wealth, and I wonder if I am losing my peasant heritage.

_**Day 135: Simple pleasures**_

I made some sort of peace with Abelle Criditte before leaving Valenvaryon this morning. It seems that in the course of the night she accepted that expecting me to abandon my quest for a wizard's staff was unreasonable, and for my part the light of a new day showed that a bit of patience for someone who had been treated so poorly by fate was in order. The orcs had let her live as long as she supplied them with potions, but they had not treated her well, and certainly not with the deference to which she is accustomed. We came to an understanding, and she agreed to spend some time making a set of fine laboratory equipment, which I will buy upon my return, saving her from having to wait pennilessly until her father can be informed of her circumstances. With the Imperial embargo imposed to contain the corprus it could be difficult to contact him.

While we talked I explained what little I know of the propylon system to her. I do not know where all of the Dunmer fortresses are, and I have no idea where to find the indexes that make the propylons work, but it would certainly be nice to have access to such a transport system. When I next return home I will ask Mebestian if he has any suggestions as to where I might find such artifacts. Propylon indexes, returning for Abelle, I seem to collect more and more things to do. Today I rebelled.

It was not far from Valenvaryon to the coast, and I could easily see how the Breton ship transporting Abelle Criditte came to be wrecked. Tall spires of rock stood in ranks on the shore like an army marching out of the sea. Any fool could see that the spires were of a fairly consistent height, and those that stood in the water attested to its depth. Beyond the point where only crowns of stone marked the spires I was sure they continued, like rows of fangs lurking just below the surface waiting to gnash out the bottom of any passing ship. Across the straits more spires rose, as if held in reserve on the further shore. I cast my water breathing spell and walked among them on the sea bottom.

I did not come to shore on the main island of Sheogorad, though I did not know that at the time. This island is small, uninhabited, and alluring. If I were only the simple man who first set foot on the docks of Seyda Neen I could make a home here, but through the course of the day I determined that I am not. There is too much that I cannot ignore. It was an idyllic day though.

While I was still considering taking leave of my responsibilities I thoroughly explored the island. High ridges offered clean sightlines for excellent hunting. I did not find cliff racers nesting on the ridges, but they fly over from the mainland. Nix hounds and guar populate the lower vales. The surrounding waters teem with kallops. I piled my armor on the shore and swam luxuriously about, gathering pearls and crab meat. The comfortable lifestyle of Missun Akin the archer could be maintained here with ease, though without the sturdy stone house he calls home. The only man made feature on this island is a path that connects a small gravel beach on the south shore to a larger sandy beach on the north.

I would guess the path was used in older days to bring goods into northern Vvardenfell. Seagoing trade ships could anchor on the north without risking the deadly straits, and small coastal craft could take it off to the south. A thriving port could have existed here in ancient times, but the only structure remaining is a tomb near the path in the center of the island. If I were to remain here I would undoubtedly meet the clan it belongs to. It appears very well tended. Unfortunately I cannot remain here.

Somewhere to the north-east, near Dagon Fel, a renegade mage holds a staff; the staff of rank of a wizard in the mage's guild. Far to the west, on the Bitter Coast, a practicing necromancer sullies the good name of the guild. The archmage cannot be counted on to lead the guild through the coming times of trial. The survival of the guild rests on his successor; a successor that must know Vvardenfell but meet the requirements imposed from Cyrodiil. Not many can fit both those points.

Ultimately, even without my obligations to the guild I could not stay. Would the Dark Brotherhood stop seeking my death? Would Dagoth Ur forgive the destruction I have wrought on his cult of followers?

By day's end I had again settled with my fate. Tomorrow I cross the straits to the east, bound for Sheogorad.

_**Day 136: Unexpected company**_

I was awakened before dawn. An unwanted interruption that brought me from a peaceful dream of sharing this island with Ahnassi; living in peace. I was sleeping in a hollow, not far from the gravel beach on the south shore. I don't know if it was the voices that woke me, or the crunch of the boat grinding ashore. My first thought was that some members of the Dunmer clan had come to visit their tomb. I cast my night eye spell and peered through the bushes. I was wrong.

Their great height revealed two of the three figures who strode up the path to be Altmeri, the third had the stocky frame of a man, probably a Cyrodiil. He was clearly a prisoner. They were barely in earshot, but I heard one of the Altmer say "I wish she didn't want this one. It would have been easier to just kill him." Then they turned a curve in the path and the bushes muffled anything else that was said. I followed up the path; too far back to catch anything further they might have said but close enough to confirm that they entered the tomb in the center of the island. I settled at a safe distance to watch the door. The eastern sky was just beginning to glow with the dawn.

I have met a few of the high elves but the Altmeri are not common in Vvardenfell. I could not think of any reason why they would be on this desolate isle hiding in an ancient tomb. I may have let my thoughts travel too much to this as 'my island', or perhaps I just sensed such a wrongness about it that I could not let it go. I resolved myself to investigate.

The tomb is a typical example of Dunmer tomb construction, though far larger than most. Large enough to house no less than ten Altmeri, including a smithy and a large alchemy lab, and slave pens. The Altmer are powerful in the ways of magica, and I recovered an array of enchanted weapons from the smithy as well as the occupants. Their alchemical supplies were not extensive, but I did gather a large quantity of valuable vampire dust. Not from their lab, from the Altmeri themselves. The tomb held a nest of blood vampires! I recognized the loathsome creatures immediately when I encountered the first one.

The vampires hid in their tomb; as much from the living as from the daylight because they are an abomination hated by all life. The unspeakable horror of feeding upon the very blood of your fellow man had my heart frozen in my chest. I dispatched them without remorse. I tried to free their slaves, but the poor wretches were beyond escape. Like a blood red dawn the terrible truth rose within me. The slaves, who identified themselves as 'cattle', not only performed menial labors for their masters; they provided food for them as well, freely offering up their throats. They are listless, dispirited creatures. Ending their misery could have been the best thing for them, but I refrained.

Deep beneath the ground I encountered the throne room of Dhaunayne Aundae. According to Ticemius Conciatius she was the queen and matriarch of her clan, Clan Aundae. Ticemius, the Cyrodiil who I had seen being dragged into the lair, is a witch hunter. He has dedicated his life to eradicating such foul monsters, wherever they appear. I freed him from his prison beneath the throne before the vampires began their grisly work on him. Dhaunayne had told him that one day soon he would be offering himself on hands and knees as the footstool to her throne, rising only to allow her to slake her thirst at his throat.

He and some others have herded those who have lost their wills into the cell. They will remain in the tomb for a time attempting to recover their less fortunate fellows, and holding the nest against any additional vampires who should return. I could not stay in those foul depths, and have returned to my campsite. I will leave this island tomorrow. I hope that I can bring my thoughts back here to the idyll that it was, rather than the horror it has become for me. I know that either way it will not be forgettable.

_**Day 137: Search for Sud**_

I left 'my' island behind this morning. The witch hunter may be able to reverse the damage to some of the vampires' cattle. Perhaps they will stay there and establish some sort of settlement. They may return to their long lost homes and leave the island in splendid desolation. Either way I suspect that I shall never return; a paradise ruined.

I crossed the straits to the north and arrived on the actual island of Sheogorad. Ranis said that the renegade wizard, Anirne, could be found in the caverns of Sud. The caverns are on the north-west coast, due west of Dagon Fel. I did not want to make the long march north-east to Dagon Fel only to traverse the length of the island again from east to west. It may have been easier if I had.

The island of Sheogorad is rugged, with many ridges that were too steep to climb. It seemed they all run east and west, but that may just be because I was trying to go north. Levitating over them, though good practice, offered its own problems. The cliff racers here are beyond counting, and swarmed around me whenever I left the solid footing of the ground. Fighting them in their own element while suspended by thin tendrils of magica is far from ideal, and having the effects of the spell run out while distracted by the great flying pests led to an assortment of skidding falls down the mountainsides.

I arrived at the coast battered and bruised and shot a mudcrab as much for spite as for lunch. My morale was slightly improved by the succulent meat, but I was not able to regain my normal state of mind. The vampires use powerful spells that sap the will as well as the life force of their victims. Although I have used my restoration magic to return to full fitness the horror still lurks in corners of my head I think. I doubt that the cattle will ever recover.

As usual, a foul humor led to a bad decision. After lunch I estimated my northward progress from the angle of the noon sun. I guessed that I was not as far north as Dagon Fel and turned north-east along the coast. Travel along the coast repeatedly called for a choice. Levitate over a rocky headland, only to be again beset by cliff racers, or wade around it fending off the inevitable slaughterfish. After a couple hours of aggravatingly slow progress I had to admit that I was clearly far north of a line due west of Dagon Fel.

I glared inland at the rugged foothills. Ranis said Sud was on the coast. 'On the coast' doesn't mean 'on the beach'. I climbed into the hills and circled back to the south-west. A zig zag course from hilltop to hilltop scanning each slope and valley for signs of the cavern made for even slower progress. Then I found a path running east and west between two steep ridges. I calculated. Inescapably I concluded that this path, at this point, was probably due west of the distant Dagon Fel. I turned to the west.

The path twisted occasionally to get past some obstacle, but basically flowed between the two ridges until the ridge on the north side dropped away into the sea. The beach was distinctive enough, and if it wasn't the broken crab shell left from my lunch was. I had rushed across this path in a last flight down from the ridge to the sea. The ridge to the south of the path was the last ridge I crossed, and in the broken cliffs just to the west where it too fell into the sea I found the entrance to the caverns of Sud. If I stood on the last curve of the path before it reached the great door I could see the spot where I had sat eating crabmeat half a day before.

I sat on the great crab shell gnawing on scrib jerky and watching the sun settle into the western sea. I do not want to enter the caverns by night. A lingering effect of the vampire clan, or just the weariness from tramping through the uncounted hills of Sheogorad? Either way, tomorrow is time enough.

_**Day 138: Into the caverns of Sud**_

I am back at my camp. I can see the entry to the caverns, but I am well screened from view and made sure that I left no tracks. I do not know if the renegade wizard Anirne will emerge to challenge me in the night, or bolster her defenses for tomorrow. Either way I must rest.

I entered Sud this morning and crept through passages lit by glowing crystals. Magica flows strongly in the caverns. The narrow twisting entry tunnel descended into a large tall chamber spanned by numerous arches of stone. Narrow ledges connected the arching bridges, or the bridges connected the ledges. Either way, traversing the chamber involved a torturous path. The exposed tops of the arches made me a target for the denizens of the small alcoves that opened off the chamber. I'm sure in ancient times these alcoves offered sheltered quarters to Dunmer guardsmen. The current master of Sud does not post men, but monsters.

I was ascending one of the great stone spans when a bolt of magica erupted from a hidden alcove and streaked across the wide space. It seemed at first poorly aimed, missing me by some margin even though it arced in flight, but as it passed by it shifted abruptly to strike the tip of my spear as if it were a lightning rod for destructive energy. I realized too late that the spear was the target all along. With amazing speed sheets of tarnished silver peeled away from the blackening point and crumbled as they flew through the air. Flew, not fell; the particles made a foggy stream as they flew back into the cave from which the bolt had struck. The weapon I felt most comfortable with was reduced to little more than a stick.

I activated the enchantment in my boots to levitate across the gap. I could see the path that would get me there, but it was narrow and could be difficult for running feet. The shallow water far below would not be enough to break any fall. It was sufficient to hide a Daedroth however. I was not a target with the stone arches shielding me from below, but before I could cross the gap to deal with my first assailant I was knocked headlong by a geyser of venomous green magica that struck up at me.

As I spun crazily through the air dripping with ichor a lean form leapt from the cave to the arch and nimbly scampered away; a hunger, devourer of arms and armor. The daedroth lurking below splashed about, clearing another line of fire. The poison etched my flesh, creeping through every gap in my armor, sizzling on my face. I slammed against the wall and clung to a ledge clearing my eyes. The great flat feet of the daedroth began slapping stone as it climbed.

I cast the Breton barkskin spell that I learned as a child, then a lightning shield that would not only protect me but actually damage my foe. Then I rolled off the ledge and fell. The great snout of the Daedroth split wide, showing double rows of sharp teeth. A word of activation and my levitating boots gave me control. I used the speed of my fall to swoop across the lowest arch, sweeping the daedroth off with a bone jarring tackle. We hit the water in a mighty splash and blast of sparks from my lightning shield. The impact knocked the wind out of me, but in combination with the crackling lightning the fall did massive damage to the daedroth. Then the great jaws closed on my leg.

I struck the beast in the eye with my armored fist. I could hardly believe the creature could maintain such a grip, crushing my leg within its casing of volcanic glass plates. Arcs from the lightning shield crackled about its head, and the stench of burning flesh rose in a wave that made my first gasp as I regained my breath a wretched taste of the nine hells. My stomach heaved. My leg bones cracked. The lightning shield sputtered out. With hacking gasps I choked out an incantation and one great spark arced between my hands, then struck down to blast the last life from the daedroth.

The water was not too deep, but was deep enough to help support my weight as I balanced precariously on one leg. I guzzled a restorative potion which helped focus and contain the magica that fairly crackled on the air of the caverns. As my magical reserves replenished I quickly cast my healing spells to bind my leg. I was almost completely recovered, and the magica continued to flow into me. The daedroth was dead, the sated hunger had disappeared, and I was in fairly good shape, but my favored weapon was destroyed and I had consumed much of my magica restorative. I climbed the arches to the large passage leading deeper into the cavern with a longing glance towards the exit.

The large passage twisted deeper into the mountain, then opened into a great chamber. As I approached the chamber I could see a vast expanse of water casting wildly reflected torchlight. To either side great stone battlements rose, constructed of the dark blocks favored by the ancient Dunmer. They towered above, and I had to step out into the chamber to see the tops.

Undead warriors make great guardians. Their attention never wavers and their eyes never close. The enchantments that summon them require great command of the school of conjuration to make them last. Anirne apparently possesses such mastery. As I stepped into the chamber a fusillade of arrows rained down upon me. Skeletal archers scampered about the battlements above. Their arrows burst into flame as they left their ghostly bows. I dove back into the shelter of the tunnel with a smoldering shaft buried in my shoulder.

More healing magic, and then I cast a spell to give me resistance to magical flame. It would not protect me from the arrows, but would reduce the burning. I quaffed the last of my restorative and began an incantation as I leapt into the chamber. I fought fire with fire. The arrows rained down on my exposed position. The parapets provided cover for the skeletons had I used my bow to fire back, but could not protect them from the explosive bursts of magical fire I lofted up at them. Huge concussions rocked the chamber as the great fireballs burst. Instead of advantageous cover their confined location held them close together, within the blast. By the time I ran out of magica the tops of the walls were littered with scorched bones, but with no magica and another round of gruesome injuries I had no choice but to retreat.

_**Day 139: Wizard's staff**_

I returned to Sud healed and rested. Before climbing the stone arches I dropped lightly into the water to check for defenders. I found none. The hunger had fled, and only the floating corpse of the daedroth held vigil. I climbed.

When I reached the great chamber I peeked cautiously around the edge of the tunnel, then slipped in under the cloak of my amulet of shadows. Huge blackened marks on the stone walls marked the scene of battle. Silence reigned. It was eerie. I activated my boots and floated upwards. Atop the fortifications on either side stood a door. No clue indicated which direction to turn. Much to my surprise I made the right choice, though it took some time to find that out.

I opened the door on the left. Looking in I was confronted by another stone battlement with no stair or ramp. The ancient Dunmer were clearly well versed in levitation. I stepped forward with the incantation forming on my lips to activate my boots. Fortunately it did not keep me from hearing the now familiar sound of feet slapping on stone. The alcoves on the sides of the chamber were cut using the natural contours of the stone to disguise their presence. I had passed into the crossfire unaware. Fortunately the conjured monsters of Anirne's defenses did not coordinate their attacks well. I turned to meet the daedroth charging from my left and was somewhat warned by its eyes flying wide. I dove to the stone floor as a sheet of crackling lightning roared over me to lash the scaly green beast.

Seeing the error it had made the storm atronach charged to join the attack. Had they both launched the horrific bolts of magica they are capable of harnessing, aiming low to keep each other from harm, the two guardians could perhaps have destroyed me. At the very least I would likely have been too badly wounded to press my attack on the wizard who lived beyond the door at the top of the battlements. Instead they chose to rush me with snapping jaws and grip crackling with the energy of a thunderstorm. I met them with Daedric longsword and shield. Soon enough they both lay dead, and some minor healing spells restored my own condition to its best.

Anirne was far wiser. She did not open her door to assess the effectiveness of her defenses. She did not count on seeing an assailant come through her door. She merely waited for it to open and launched a tremendous poison bloom that burst in the doorway. It struck with even more potent venom than the daedroth's spell yesterday, but I had the advantage of solid footing. I quickly reached into my belt pouch and drew out a vial I have kept for my encounters with the poisonous bull netch. The poison antidote did not heal me, but it countered any further ill effects of the spell from the moment it passed my lips.

I cast off the empty vial. I brought my shield up to deflect the object of my mission. The great ebon staff rang against the daedric plate of the shield. My arm stung from the vibration as if it were being host to a swarm of pestflies. A rush of flame burst from Anirne's hands to singe my eyebrows and blacken my face. I could not long stand against her spells. The wizards staff, unlike normal weapons, does not obstruct the spell caster. She adroitly mixed powerful blows from the staff among her attacks. I responded with my daedric longsword. Despite the lack of enchantments it is a fine and powerful weapon.

I would like to have talked to her about what had led her to reject the guild. I would like to have discussed what could be done if a new archmage were to replace Trebonius. I would like to have had her teach me some of her skills with the art of conjuration. None of that was possible. I could not understand what led such a wizard to be sheltering in such a remote and unpleasant place. I will never understand. Anirne is dead. One of us had to die in her tiny room.

With her staff in my hand I should be able to take command of any remaining defenses here in this rugged underground fortress. Tomorrow. For now I have cast a locking spell on both doors. If her bed offers a level of comfort suitable for a wizard I am sure that it will be fine for resting my weariness away. I must sleep.

_**Day 140: What to do?**_

I have learned that keeping my journal keeps me calm. It focuses my thoughts. Reminds me of things I may have otherwise forgotten. It is a practice, and a habit. Tonight I can barely bring pen to paper, but I have no idea how else to carry on.

I woke this morning well rested, in the chamber of the vanquished wizard Anirne. My store of magica was renewed, I was well, and armed with a staff that would allow me to claim my place among the elite of the mage's guild. It could easily have been a perfect day. I ignored any possible loot that may have lay with other denizens of the cavern of Sud and cast my recall spell. Even before I returned to Ranis in Balmora to raise my staff and be declared a wizard I wanted to share my triumph with Ahnassi.

Her beautiful eyes, with the slitted pupils of a cat, flew wide as I spoke of my perilous battles to claim the staff. She is funny. She hissed with outrage as I described the ambush in the wizard's outer chamber, but her own styles of combat are all centered in stealth and surprise. She is a Khajiit, and a talented thief.

We had Mebestian Ence in for lunch. He is the local trader and my connection to the unseemly world of the smugglers of Dwemer artifacts. He gave me a suggestion about who I could talk to regarding indexes for the powerful propylons of the ancient Dunmer fortresses. They are rare. I left Pelagiad with a cryptic note from Mebestian to a pawnbroker in Caldera. The note was meaninglessly innocuous to the casual eye, but would introduce me to Irgola as a trustworthy friend. Ahnassi clapped her hands and purred at the thought of seeing such a unique item.

I teleported myself to Balmora and walked proudly down the thoroughfare, the great ebon staff of a wizard thumping against the cobbles with each stride. Edwinna has made at least one trip to Tel Fyr. The survival of a Dwemer has been reported to the headquarters of the guild in the distant Imperial capital. Messages from Trebonius have been received; messages demanding my whereabouts. Ranis reported that I was headed to Sheogorad on a quest for a staff; the truth, nothing more, nothing less. Edwinna has reported that I am waiting for some mysterious translation project to be completed, but she does not know where I am. Skink has reported that I am on a mission for him; to slay a necromancer. After I left Ranis sent word to Trebonius that I would be answering his summons as soon as I picked up some translations. Again the truth, though now I do not know when I will be traveling to Gnissis.

I used the guild teleporting system to travel to Caldera. Irgola was very helpful once he had read the note from Mebestian. He actually had an index in his possession. For a large number of septims he became even more helpful and sold it to me. I turned the metal object over in my hands. It is familiar. I have seen similar objects before, most recently in Tel Fyr. I do not know the symbols, but nowhere on this index are there the symbols I associate with Falasmaryon or Valenvaryon. Neither of the fortresses I am familiar with appears to be the target for whatever propylon this index activates.

I cast my recall spell again in the late afternoon, planning to take Ahnassi to the Halfway Tavern for a celebratory evening of dinner and dance. I appeared in the hallway with the index in my hand, ready to show her. She was not downstairs. I charged up the steps calling joyfully "Look kitten! Look what I got!" She was not upstairs either. There was a note on the table, much to my surprise. Although I have seen her manipulate a lock pick with a delicacy that defies all logic, she claims that 'Khajiiti hands are not made for holding pens'. I picked up the paper. It containes two lines of neat text.

"We have the girl. She will not like Mournhold."

_**Day 141: The search begins**_

I rose before dawn. I wasn't sleeping anyway. I did not know for sure if the note was meant to lure me into a trap or leave me disturbed with my guard down. I am also afraid for my dear Ahnassi. I should never have settled in Pelagiad and exposed her to this danger.

I stepped out into the darkened streets. I was not simply escaping the confines of the house, though I had been waiting to go for some time. My weapons were honed to their keenest edge, and I brewed some fresh restorative potions. But what I was waiting for was the changing of the guard. Many of the guards would have breakfast at the Halfway before taking their posts. They know me well enough. I could talk to them.

"Dark Brotherhood? Scum, all of them. If they are after you you had better get some help. Or make a will..."

"What? Taken Ahnassi? Right here in Pelagiad? Why would they take her? The Dark Brotherhood don't kidnap, they kill. I'm so sorry Arvil, I didn't mean..."

"It's you they want? Whatever for? They don't operate on Vvardenfell, at least they haven't..."

Their reactions, their words; it was all meaningless chatter to me. Until someone said "What about Apelles Matius? He just arrived from Cyrodiil to inspect the defenses at Ebonheart. He has experience with the Dark Brotherhood." That was all I needed. I left my untouched breakfast cooling on the plate. I ran to the house and quickly gathered arms and armor, then teleported to the temple in Vivec City. The haze of magica still swirled about me and I did not feel quite completely solid when I was again running, casting my levitation spell as I leapt over the western battlement of the courtyard of the High Fane. I alit on the Ebonheart road without breaking stride. Somehow running myself to exhaustion helped clear my head.

I arrived in Ebonheart with no idea how to proceed. The huge castle loomed before me; two castles really, joined by a high bridge. Before the castle itself I entered a great plaza, over which a mighty statue of an Imperial dragon loomed. My breathless flight had cleared my head; cleared it enough that I regretted my haste. Had the Dark Brotherhood been arrayed in the plaza I was prepared; armed to the teeth, stinking of sweat, hair blown wildly. For gathering information in a Ducal court I was completely out of place.

Fortunately as I began asking for directions to an inn of some sort I met a Redguard. Though somewhat smoothed around the edges by life in the center of Imperial might in Vvardenfell his warrior heritage lurked close beneath the surface and he was not put off by my wildness. I checked in to the inn, gathered my wits and my civility about me, and ventured back out into the castle courts.

It took the day, a day I was loathe to waste on bureaucracy, but I eventually was allowed to meet with Apelles Matius. My patience was worn, and I leapt to the point far too quickly.

"I call no man liar, especially a man bearing the staff of a Mage Guild Wizard," he responded, "but there must be a mistake. If the Dark Brotherhood wanted your death it would be someone else reporting the crime. You would be dead."

I swallowed; to clear my throat, and my impatience. I opened the exquisite robe I had donned for the day, revealing the black chain tunic I wore underneath. From my pouch I drew the black hood of an assassin, still stained with his blood. "The Dark Brotherhood has sent as many of their members to their deaths as they are willing to do. Now they have taken...something dear to me. I must travel to Mournhold, they think to die in their trap. They may be right, or they may be wrong. Either way there will be death."

The general looked me in the eye as he fingered the black mask. "Again no offense, but only a fool would put his head in their noose. It must be something of great value they have taken from you." He turned to pace the battlements, inviting me to join him with a tilt of his head. The sun gleamed off of his polished silver armor. "There are no ships to the mainland. Because of the blight my inspection trip here would have been a permanent assignment, but I brought with me a powerful mage, Asciene Rane. She can teleport you to Mournhold. Meet her tomorrow morning in the antechambers of the Grand Council. Good luck."

Again I face a sleepless night. Is Ebonheart the path to the trap, or have I already entered the jaws? I cannot be slain. If I die Ahnassi will be of no value to them. For her sake I must prevail.

_**Day 142: Mournhold**_

This morning I crossed the bridge to the west fortress of Ebonheart. Asciene Rane knew I was coming, and met me in the antechamber. She was not happy to be teleporting me to Mournhold. She suggested that the capital city of Morrowind was no place for idle exploration, and I have seen that she is right about that. When I explained that my search for the Dark Brotherhood was no idle exploration she was even less happy about that, but she cast the spell.

I was welcomed to Mournhold by an Argonian mage who was surprised to see me. "Well, you aren't Apelles Matius," he hissed. "Yours to speak, ours to listen."

My wizard's staff came in very handy. Asciene Rane and this Argonian, Effi-tei, have set up a link much like the guild guides have between guild halls. Although it was intended exclusively for the general's use my own rank in the guild was sufficient to calm the guide. I am once again thankful for everything I learned about Argonians from Nine-toes. I could tell that Effi-tei had accepted my explanations even though he kept up what looked like a very agitated pacing. Though they consistently walk erect the Argonians' reptilian form is actually balanced better for running than walking, and hardly balanced at all for standing still.

Effi-tei could give me the basic layout of the city, but was not willing to speculate on or otherwise discuss the Dark Brotherhood. In fact it quickly became clear that it would be best for me to leave the palace. There is no guild hall in Mournhold, and the guide link was established inside the palace where it can be monitored by the guards. The previous king may not have insisted on that, but the recent ascension of Helseth to the throne has apparently stirred some twisting under the Imperial boot. Caius' advice to 'think locally' echoed in my head as I exited to the plaza.

I promptly got lost. The kind of lost that can only happen when, at root, there is nowhere to go. Mournhold is a huge city, with more buildings, alleys, plazas, shops, and people than I could begin to count. I had no plan, no goal, no idea where to seek the Dark Brotherhood, and in short order had no idea where I was. The guards were curtly dismissive, which was appropriate since I didn't really know what to ask. I suspect a lost stranger asking questions about the notorious assassins would get more attention than answers, so I wandered the plazas.

Eventually I found myself in a residential area that shared a large walled section of the city with a crafts district. On the edge between stands the Winged Guar, a comfortable hostel that I have taken as my base of operations here. Although it was still early I went inside. I wanted to continue the search, but could sense the futility. I need to find a source of information, and settled in an inn that is more likely to happen than it is wandering the streets. There is also the distinct possibility that the Dark Brotherhood will find me.

My first candidate for a source of information was the publican, an Altmer woman called Hession. Renting a room, implying a potentially long stay, buying dinner; these are frequently sufficient grounds for the proprietor of such an establishment to become talkative. Not so Hession. She was distracted; too distracted. Instead of getting information to further my own search I ended up being the end of hers.

Her bouncer, an Orc who had been surprisingly reliable to date, was late coming to work and the afternoon to early evening crowd included some customers who had already had too much to drink despite the early hour. To get on her good side I accepted Hession's request to settle things down. It seemed like it would be simple enough.

Simple enough until I got an education in what it takes to be a bouncer at the hands of a severely drunk Bosmer. I took an earful of abuse from the wood elf that to the best of my knowledge I and my fellow Bretons did not deserve. I kept my temper, which did no good at all, and told the miscreant that he would have to leave. He opted to sock me in the ear.

By then I had had my fill of his taunts anyway, and smashed him down with my staff. As I raised it to bring the ebony head down on the even denser Bosmer skull Hession leapt into the fray crying "Don't kill him, he's a customer!" The Bosmer took the opportunity to launch another roundhouse blow.

I will never try to hire myself out as a bouncer again. I subdued the Bosmer and threw him out into the street, but only after taking a massive pounding. Fortunately the restorative brews I carry were sufficient to carry the day, as my skill at unarmed combat is sorely lacking. By whatever means I did prevail, and succeeded in befriending Hession, as was my intent. In the morning I will see what information that is good for.

_**Day 143: Gambling and good fortune**_

Good fortune smiled on me this morning, and also smiled on a gambler by the name of Dilborn. The kind of good fortune that comes to those who make friends. In my case it seems that friendship invariably involves some sort of favor, frequently a dangerous favor, but such is my lot.

When I emerged from the Winged Guar this morning I still had no real ideas about where to look for the Dark Brotherhood. My best intention was to wander the streets of this quarter of the city, which is known as Godsreach, making myself known to the locals. In the street directly in front of the inn I found out that I am already known. One of the Ordinators, which I found out are called High Ordinators here, was in an animated discussion with a shabbily clad Nord. I am a member of the temple in good standing, so I did not waver when the featureless Ordinator mask turned towards me, but my status in the temple did not explain the man behind the mask greeting me by name.

As luck would have it this High Ordinator was only recently promoted, having served with distinction among the Ordinators in Vivec City. He knew me well from my involvement there with the Dreamer Prophet incident. After a brief exchange of greetings he turned back to the Nord. "Thrud," he said, "Arvil Bren here is a bit of a hero back where I come from. Perhaps he would be willing to help you." He turned back to me and said very quietly "We need to get him off the streets. I should be just taking him into custody."

It is not like an Ordinator to go lightly on a miscreant, but the tenets of the temple are their guides and some follow them more than others. When Thrud turned his simple gaze on me I could see the reason for charity. "Thrud has lost his only friend. Cannot find Dilborn. Dilborn reads to Thrud. But I cannot find Dilborn."

"Let's all step inside here and talk about this Thrud. What do you say?" I said, turning back towards the Winged Guar.

"Come along Thrud. Arvil Bren will be your friend. He is a friend to many, and a good friend to have." The words of the High Ordinator struck an exposed nerve. I had not been a good friend for my beloved Ahnassi to have.

I turned back to the Ordinator. "You know me, and you know I will help this fellow if I can, but I need some help myself." We all got what we needed. I agreed to take Thrud in search of his friend, who was last seen entering a nearby sewer; the local sewers being a known hangout for the poor and ill willed of the city. In return my Ordinator friend agreed to check among the other High Ordinators who have been in the capital longer regarding the whereabouts of the Dark Brotherhood. How long that took him I don't really know, but I got his message when I returned to the Winged Guar. My part took the rest of the day, and nearly my life, as well as Thrud's.

The deal struck we all left the hostel. Thrud led me to a sewer grate, through which we entered the shadowy underworld beneath the 'city of light and magic' as Mournhold is frequently called by the natives. The modern city may be a city of light, but underneath are the ruins of the old city, where darkness reigns. We dropped into the sewer tunnels beneath the grate. I had to ask Thrud what his friend Dilborn had gone down there for, but got little information. "To meet some friends" was as much answer as the Nord could produce. We glided quietly through the tunnels. I was not sure what to expect, so I prepared for the worst. My quiver is loaded with not only regular arrows but flame arrows recovered from the skeletal archers of Sud. I held one loosely nocked in my steel longbow. The Nord held an ebony axe at the ready.

Having a Nord for an ally is not the safest way to conduct a battle. They are quickly overcome with blood lust and don't hold well to a strategy. Thrud in a sense is better than most. At least it is clear from the start that any strategy more complex than 'Thrud kill with axe' is beyond his capacity. Simple of mind but strong of arm, Thrud could manage that quite well.

Living in the sewers is a species of small hopping humanoids that Thrud called goblins. I didn't know for sure if that was an accurate name or just a generic term, but either way the little monsters are dangerous foes, and well armed. My preference would have been to deal with them through stealth and archery, but my companion took a more direct approach despite my repeated demands. I could, and did, at least wound our opponents with a flaming shaft before they closed for combat, but any attempt at a second shot would have likely ended up in the broad back of Thrud as he charged into whatever odds. One shot and rush to his side was the only option available to me. Fortunately the great oaf is durable, and the goblins, though tough, were no match for his axe and my spear in concert. After each battle I spent my magica on healing spells to bring him back up to par, telling him all the while that the next time he should wait until I had fired as many arrows as the charging goblin's distance allowed. Wasted words.

Eventually, deep underground, we found a lighted alcove, closed off by a wall of iron bars. A door of similar construction stood open to allow access. A strong voice shouted from within, "It's about time." We entered.

Three Dunmer were inside, two of them holding a somewhat scrawny shackled man by the elbows. "Dilborn!" Thrud cried, and raised his axe as he leapt forward. I grabbed the fool as blades flew into the hands of the Dunmer.

"My men will kill your friend before you cross five feet," the third Dunmer shouted. "The bracers have drained his magica and he is defenseless. Did you bring the money?"

Thrud stopped and stood dumbly, axe hanging at his side. "Ransom?" I asked.

"Ransom. Yes, I suppose you could call it ransom. I saw the note delivered myself," said the leader.

Thrud drew a crumpled paper from his tunic pocket. "This note? I need Dilborn to read it to me. He reads to me." I breathed a quick prayer for patience and took the note. It demanded three thousand septims, not as ransom but as payment of gambling debts. It included directions and a password for getting past the neighboring goblins. I paid. I needed Dilborn to take his friend off my hands.

My good deed did not go unrewarded. Thrud was carrying a rare book for Dilborn, which the grateful wizard gave to me, and on my way out of the sewers I gathered shields and weapons from the fallen goblins which will certainly fetch something from an armorer. I suspect I will be collecting more. The Dark Brotherhood is apparently headquartered in the tunnels beneath a section of the city known as the Grand Bazaar.

_**Day 144: Old Mournhold**_

The city of Mournhold was almost completely destroyed in ancient times during a battle between Almalexia and Mehunes Dagon. The current city was built over the ruins. The twisting sewers connect pockets of these ruins in a complicated warren of underground passages. A warren that provides shelter to all sorts of fell creatures and evil men. Evil men like the Dark Brotherhood.

Starting my search from a sewer grate in the Great Bazaar before dawn gave me the opportunity to drop into the tunnels unseen and unquestioned. Immediately I could see that the worked stone of the sewers intermingled with natural caves as well as passages that wormed through the compressed mass of rubble that in many places is all that is left of the old city. My water breathing spell was required in many of these passages as they dipped below the water line. The first I explored in fact dead ended in a small flooded chamber where a previous explorer had met an unfortunate end. He must have died from wounds, as he had a potion in his possession that would have allowed him to draw air from the water long enough to get out.

I returned to the sewers and continued my explorations. Any time a long passage seemed to lead too far from the entrance I turned back. The Ordinator had said 'under the Grand Bazaar', and I resolved to thoroughly explore the limited area before moving on. This strategy met with success, unless the assassin I found had taken a liking to the particular cave he was in. It seems more likely that he was posted there as a guard, and that the headquarters of the Dark Brotherhood lies beyond. I will find out tomorrow. Unfortunately by the time I had found this possible lair the long day of creeping through the sewers and tunnels had spent my time as well as my energies and I was forced to retreat unseen.

The approach to the guarded cavern is flooded, and I walked carefully along the bottom breathing water. Numerous boulders and broken blocks of ancient stonework allowed me to climb close enough to the surface to slowly raise my head, obscured by the chameleon spells of my amulet. Had he remained immobile the black armor of the assassin would have rendered him nearly invisible and I may well have emerged from the water directly into his blade, but he was unwary. His movements were definitely the movements of a man on a guard post; at a guard post with no expectation of assault. I slipped slowly back beneath the water and left as I had come. Hopefully they will be no more wary tomorrow.

They probably do not feel a great need to be alert, as this part of the vast underground network teems with the restless undead of old Mournhold. I was continuously beset, on my way in and on my way out, by skeletal warriors, spirits, and gruesome bonelords. I had thought the spells of the bonelords would be the worst danger I would face from these undead monsters, but I found that I was underestimating the dangers.

At a sharp corner in a passage I was beset by two skeletons. The first leapt forward swinging a great silver sword with both bony hands, and I was momentarily glad to see it. The mighty blade drew sparks as it glanced off the wall, and in the narrowness of the passage it seemed I would be able to face them one at a time as the second could not pass the claymore's great arc. The creature had no desire to pass. The second skeleton was the animated remains of a great wizard, battling beyond death, a lich.

The bony frame of my sword wielding foe offered little obstruction, and targeted bolts of elemental fury burst against my shield, or worse, directly against my armor. Although it did not stop them all I could not do without the enchanted protection of the shield, so I could not manage my spear and was forced to draw the Daedric longsword. I have been practicing, but it would certainly not be my weapon of choice. The heavy blade gave a great accounting though, and I may have to practice more and get comfortable with it. While a jabbing spear is perfect for holding an opponent at bay, and frequently out of reach with their own weapons, it is not overly effective against the limited target of a skeleton. Not so the sweeping longsword, particularly a keen edge backed by the tremendous Daedric mass. A bone-shattering pass or two through the undead warrior and it was reduced to fragments and dust. I charged towards the lich.

Being basically raised in the thieves guild I had a lot of opportunity to learn lessons from the mistakes of others, so as not to have to make those mistakes myself. The urge to flee the powerful magic of the animated dead is very strong, and automatic. With a sword champion such as I had dispatched that may even be for the best, but to flee from a lich is death. Their mastery of the elemental magics of destruction can strike accurately over a great distance. Being in close invites no more damage, and with luck the lich can be struck down before too much is done. Luck was with me. I found myself charred but alive, lying atop the moth-eaten robes that had hung limply over the bony shoulders. My weight, my armor, and the momentum of the charge had carried the spellcaster over backwards to a crushing end against the stone floor. The skull, separated from the neck by a smashing blow from the flat of the sword that had also torn away the lower jaw, rocked slowly back and forth. An eerie glow in the eye sockets faded ever so slowly, flickered, and went out.

Tonight I am assessing the wide array of scrolls that I have picked up in my travels. Frequently I have traded enchanted or enchantable goods for these icons of controlled magica. The spells scribed upon them are intended to burst forth quickly, and reliably, in the face of rapidly approaching danger, and without consuming the resources of the spell caster. I suspect that to reach and invade the Dark Brotherhood stronghold will take all that I have.

_**Day 145: Reunion**_

The trek through the sewers was easier today. Knowing where I was going helped. I only had to fight my way through the undead legions when they were directly blocking my path, and even then I could avoid some of them. If there was a way to sneak around them and get out of sight using only a single charge of my amulet of shadows I opted for that rather than a fight. I wanted to have all of the magica I possess available when I reached the Dark Brotherhood stronghold.

The guard posted in the entry chamber today was more alert, perched immobile on a boulder and scanning the water. I matched him, with only my eyes and nose above the waterline. I knew there had to be a guard, and I was patient enough to carefully scan every inch of the cavern until I made him out, a dim outline in the darkness. Then I scanned some more, making sure he was alone.

Ever so gently I raised one hand above the water far enough to flick a small stone. The pebble struck rock, then clattered down. The assassin had his sword in hand before it splashed gently into the water. I maintained a frozen immobility. The guard studied the water in an obvious quandary. Clearly calling for help for nothing would be an embarrassment. I waited. As the guard slowly sheathed his sword I flicked a second stone.

The second time he was quicker, and didn't distract himself with the sound of his own sword. He locked onto the spot where the stone hit the water, and carefully studied the face of the cavern wall. When he slid down from his perch and approached the water I slipped beneath the surface and cast my water breathing spell once again. Held to the bottom by my heavy armor, I slid on my back into the shallows. Though his image was broken by the shimmering surface I could see the guard standing at the water's edge peering into the dimness. He began to back away, then turned to return to his post. With two fingers I tapped the top of my watery shelter.

The guard spun at the sound of the splash, again drawing his blade. The tension took him, and this time he stepped into the water, still seeking the lurking foe at the far wall of the cavern. My spear took him in the throat as I hooked him behind the knees to drag him down. Blood spread in a crimson stain across the pool. The black armor was barely heavy enough to hold him under. I pulled the corpse into deeper water, stripped off the valuable armor, and placed a rock on his chest.

Ever so cautiously I crept to each twist in the passage, peering around corners interminably before moving on. The rest of the path was clear. Soon a large cavern opened before me. Two great buildings flanked what had been an avenue, which was now roofed over with a mass of stone frozen in a great wave. The once molten rock gave mute testament to the furies unleashed in the ancient battle. Great droplets had struck the buildings, but they had stood, only to be entombed beneath the surface.

Deeply hidden from the light of the sun the once fine manor houses now served as the underground headquarters of the vile assassins. I watched the activity as the black armored villains went about their business. Like any headquarters most of the activity revolved around waiting. Assassins are accustomed to taking their battles to their prey, and here they mostly idled, though occasionally one would emerge from one of the buildings moving in the hurried officious manner that is common to the carriers of orders anywhere.

Despite my gnawing worry for Ahnassi I remained patient. Though they waited in idleness I knew they would respond quickly to any attack, and my experiences with them left me uncomfortable with their vastly greater numbers. Taking them on in their own place also gave them an advantage, an advantage I set out to nullify through careful examination. An ornate ledge on the crumbling face of a building, an outcrop from the wall of rubble filling the far end of the street, a ladder leading up to what could be a chamber in that jumbled mass; I took these things in as I lay unmoving on the stone floor. I also counted my enemies. Between five and eight seemed to be lurking among the ruins. How many were in the buildings I could not guess. I hoped that however many there were they would not hear anything through the thick stone walls.

Like any battle a well formed plan was key, and like any plan of battle it had to be adapted as soon as the battle began. Overall though it went well. I slid back out of sight, rose to my feet, and prepared myself. Spells to fortify my speed and agility as well as augment my armor swirled around me, and I drew a handful of thin clay tubes from my pack. The parchments inside these tubes crackled with magica, magica that could be released in a torrent simply by reading the incantations. With a word I activated my amulet of shadows to disguise my movements, then read the first scroll I had selected. With a crackling sound and a smell of brimstone an atronach burst forth through a brief gap in the barriers of the fiery elemental plane, summoned to do my bidding. I activated my levitation boots and flew into the chamber, my flaming minion charging behind.

As one would expect the great flaming monster suddenly bursting into their midst commanded the attention of the enemy. The wisest among them no doubt knew that a wizard was responsible, but no amount of wisdom could allow for much of a search in the face of the atronach, which began casting spells of its own as soon as it turned the corner and saw the scurrying black clad forms. Balls of elemental fire flew from the outstretched arms to burst among them. I sped to the ledge I had selected as my first perch and cracked open the next of my chosen tubes. The atronach must have felt almost at home. Its own gusts of elemental fire were quickly supplemented by my own. As fast as I could read the scrolls they would erupt into flames and streak towards my targets to burst in mighty flares of scorching heat. My vantage point served well. Assassins who dove for cover trying to evade the blasts from my summoned ally had no opportunity to wonder where the devouring flames that enveloped them had come from.

With the initial fury of its connection to its own plane spent the atronach could no longer launch its flames across the distance, and it rushed forward to engulf survivors in its scorching embrace. I had planned to continue the barrage with flaming arrows, but circumstances dictated otherwise. I leapt down from the ledge to block the door to the building as a badly burned assassin hurried towards it, no doubt expecting to raise the alarm within. My spear made short work of him, but I was quickly assailed by another. This one had avoided the fiery assault, and from the way he barked orders at his fellows he was clearly of a senior rank. "The atronach will burn out, just keep it at bay," he shouted. "The wizard is here!" He circled, using his blade to swipe aside the jabs of my spear, looking for a chance to leap in close that would neutralize my weapon. I backed against the wall as the sound of assistance joining my opponent came ominously to my ears.

I flung the spear crossways, waist high. It would do no damage, but it gave me a precious second. Not long enough to read a scroll, or even weave a spell of my own, but long enough to activate my boots. I took a vicious cut on my leg as I rose, but escaped to my ledge. Two badly burned assassins had joined their superior, and that worthy was scrambling to gather my own spear to use against me. I quickly drew out a final scroll and read. The summoned atronach was a bit surprised at appearing in mid air, and roared with fury as it fell amongst the startled assassins.

Being driven to its knees by the fall did not deter the elemental monster, and with one backhanded swipe fire consumed the last remaining life from one badly charred foe. The lead assassin roared with anger at the other fleeing apprentice and lunged forward to drive the spear into the chest of raging flames that rose before him. The atronach bellowed as it swung both blazing hands together in a mighty clap that sent an eruption of flame along the spear's shaft. I don't know if he was already dead or if the shot ended his misery, but I put a flaming arrow into the leader's head as it shriveled in the heat. The atronach, though badly wounded, bounded after the last fleeing opponent. I didn't know if the conjuration would last long enough for the monster to catch up, so I brought him down with another arrow. When the spell expired the atronach disappeared, leaving behind the smoking corpse of the man it had dove upon.

I stood on the ledge surveying the carnage. I considered which of the two buildings to enter first, then I looked up at the opening high above the street. A beautifully striped face smiled down at me. Ahnassi! I could not take time for ladders. My boots lofted me directly to the lip of the opening. Magica draining bracers were locked to her arms, and she was shackled by just enough chain to reach the opening she peered down from, but she was unharmed. I threw my arms around her.

"We must flee! There are many more evil men here!" she said in my ear. "They are skilled, and silent, and carry darts that dragged me down into sleep. We must get out of here while we can."

Reluctantly I released my embrace. "We are on our way dear one," I said, as the razor edge of the Daedric longsword parted the chain. Ahnassi is a master of stealth, but what was called for was a rapid departure. I took her in my arms and activated my boots as I leapt off the ledge. She clung to me and I took comfort from her arms, as well as her darting eyes. I knew she would spot any danger of pursuit, which allowed me to focus on getting us clear as quickly as possible.

Our reunion was sweet, but brief. I led her directly to the palace. When we entered, wet and bedraggled, with Ahnassi still trailing a short length of chain, I was afraid we would be turned away by the guards, but fortunately the mage Effe-tei was not far from the entrance and came to my call. "You are ready to return to Vardenfell Arvil Bren?" he said. "It will be our pleasure to transport you."

"Not me Effe-tei, only Ahnassi." Her eyes flew wide, and I could see an argument forming. I took her by the shoulders. "The Dark Brotherhood will be right after us. I can't keep being a danger to you..."

"But you cannot leave me. You are my mate, by Khajiit tradition. I do not release you. We will face this danger together." Her eyes narrowed and the hiss in her voice spoke of a bad end for any who tried to come between us.

"I'm not leaving you Ahnassi." I pressed a bag with a full set of black chain armor into her hands. "Take this to Wyan, the smith at the fighter's guild in Balmora. He'll get those bracers off of you. Then I want you to hide, the Balmora Khajiit are my friends, and I'm sure you know them. They can tell me where to find you."

"When will you come for me? Where are you going?" she asked.

"Back to finish what I started. This is the end of the Dark Brotherhood." I turned away from any argument as Effe-tei cast the spell to send her home.

_**Day 147: No wizard returning**_

I woke this morning before dawn and left the temple, again shrouded in robes. I discarded the robe in a canal in the Godsreach district before I approached the Winged Guar, in case it was being watched. I assume that it was. My door had been expertly opened, and a silver dagger skewered my taunting note to the desk. "We knew you would hide, but not forever" was scrawled across the bottom. I think they were hoping I would hide. Assassins thrive on the fear and extended tension. If I hid I would eventually get complacent again, and be found. That I could not risk.

I ate breakfast and thought carefully of strategies. In a book that I read an army gets mislead about the tactics of their opposition. Anticipating a barrage of spells they assault under cover of reflective spells of their own, expecting the enemy to be destroyed by their own reflected magic. The defenders rely instead on a hail of arrows, and the reflective spells prevent healers from restoring the attackers to fitness. The Dark Brotherhood could make the same mistake. Again I was thankful for my father's advice. Although we Breton's are reknowned as magicians and wizards he always demanded that I be well versed in combat. I revisited one of the smiths and purchased a half dozen spears.

Before teleporting to my mark in the depths of the Dark Brotherhood stronghold I activated my amulet. I expected little traffic, and had selected a spot where my appearance would be sheltered by the twisting passage, but it was critical that I not rouse any alarm. I could do nothing about the swirling mystical energies of teleportation except hope. As they dissipated my hopes were weakened. Voices came from the chamber that had been Ahnassi's prison. The first one saying "what was that?" I pressed my back against the stone wall.

"What was what?" came a second voice, somewhat dulled from sleep. "It was a long night. If you are gonna chase shadows go join the patrols out in the sewers."

"It wasn't a shadow, it was a light. I'm just going to make sure that wizard isn't lobbing magica around the main cavern." Footsteps scuffed on the stone floor.

I cast a silencing spell and charged the corner. Of course the swirling magica gave him another light to chase, but he never had the chance. There is a trick to holding two spears. The head of the second has to be far enough back that it doesn't touch the target. The first spear I left buried in the curious one's chest. The second was ready as I burst into the chamber.

Although he had sounded sleepy and complacent the second assassin was more skilled and rose well to the challenge, but I had the passage behind me. I could jab and back away, staying out of range of his shortsword. Assassins need to be discreet, they are not well versed with spears, which cannot be hidden. His best hope was that in backing down the passage I would stumble over the body of his cohort. I didn't, and he joined him in death.

These two were coming off whatever duty had kept them through the night. It seemed unlikely there would be any disturbance from the main cavern below. I set out an array of spears and crept to the lip of the steep drop to the cavern floor and peered over. Despite their casualties of the prior day the cavern was thronged with black clad assassins. Likely not the entire Dark Brotherhood organization, but enough.

Once again I took on the concealment of my amulet and a silencing spell, then slipped over the edge. The door to one of the ancient manor buildings was not far down the rubble slope and I gained it undetected. There was no immediate guard within, but the voices of many assassins muttered down the hallway. I cast a locking spell on the door to bar any assistance, or at least delay them, cast an array of protective spells and swept down the hall.

Even with their numbers the advantage of my longer reach could not be overcome, though I was briefly in trouble when the opposition was joined by their leader. He emerged from a private chamber through a heavy metal door. He was wary, bending low and then coming into the hall in a diving roll that gave him opportunity to survey the situation. He came to his feet sheltered against a wall and immediately began casting a spell. Backing away as I was there was no way to stop him, and his minions kept pressing despite all the wounds I had inflicted on them. I backed around a corner as my questing spear found a throat, eliminating another opponent. The leader pursued, and I could see that the result of his conjuration was a great Daedric longbow. I added more lateral movements, using the two remaining assassins for as much shelter from the bow as I could until they too fell before my point.

Now the matter of range was working against me instead of for me, with the archer skittering backwards between volleys of arrows that burst into flame as they sped toward me. I dropped my spear. To wield the spear I had kept my Daedric shield strapped high on my arm, but I needed it more accessible. Grabbing a short blade gleaming with venomous magica from one of the corpses I sprang to the attack.

I took some hits before I managed to corner my enemy, but behind the shelter of my shield I gulped magical restorations that overcame not only the wounds but the burns from the enchantment as well. He dropped the bow and drew his own blade. Skill? Purity of motive? The will of the divines? Who can really say what carries the day in a swordfight between evenly matched opponents? For whatever reason, on this day it was mine to prevail. Dandras Vules, holder of the Dark Brotherhood contract on my life, collapsed at my feet. I found the contract and pocketed it, but any further investigation had to be deferred due to an incessant pounding at the outer door. I cast my recall spell once again.

Looking down into the main cavern I had a clear view of the numerous assassins. When they looked up they had an equally clear view of me, but they were scurrying about like kwama with a fire in their nest. It would not be long before they got through the door to the manor if they kept trying. They stopped trying when I opened fire with my bow. The approaches to my position were long, narrow, and steep, and offered scant cover. When some managed to get close I would drop the bow and grab one of the spears I had placed near the final ladder to be climbed to reach the lip of rubble where I stood. I could have held off an army, and basically I did. Twenty-six assassins died today.

I expect there will be more. Tonight I am sleeping in a darkened room behind a metal door. Not Dandras Vules room. Any assassin that returns to the headquarters and sees the carnage will likely go there. I am in a room not far away, perhaps the chamber of some leutenant. My door is locked tight, Dandras Vules' door is rigged with an array of swords that will clatter loudly if the door is opened. I feel as safe as I ever have since arriving in Vvardenfell.

_**Day 148: Bloody work**_

It has been a long day. I have been providing hospitality to Dark Brotherhood assassins returning to their headquarters and have added another twelve sets of their black chainmail to my collection. The crates in the high cave overlooking the main cavern are nearly full. Even the wealth of the smiths and traders here in Mournhold, who are generally much more prosperous than those in Vvardenfell, will likely not be enough to buy it all. Hopefully they will at least buy enough that I will be able to carry the rest. I used a teleportation spell to get above ground and visited a few merchants and smiths. Some refused, but after my previous round selling the armor there was more than enough interest. Many of them will meet me on the temple steps tomorrow.

The ancient manor house offered up some secrets and treasures of its own. The courtyard, though badly marred by fallen stone and sealed from above by a dome of slag, is still beautiful. A mighty fountain flows in the center, towering nearly to the top of the chamber. I can only imagine it in better days, outlined against the sky. I climbed the many ledges and waterfalls, and the flowing water was cleansing. Stripping the armor from the numerous bodies was gory work, and the falls would briefly flow red, but the great volume of water would soon be restored to freshness. The assassins brought their fate upon themselves, and I do not mourn them, but I have done so much killing. Somehow seeing the fountain restore itself as the blood washed away made a difference.

In my exploration of its many ledges I found that I was not the first to be deeply moved by the fountain. In some ancient time a scorned suitor chose to die on the lofty heights. I'm sure the young lady of the manor could not have helped being moved by his final words, but apparently his timing was bad. The destruction of the city must have claimed the residents of the manor before they even noticed his emotional end. His note lay unrecovered. As I gathered the adamantium armor he left on the ledge before his final leap I wondered at the irony. Had he waited on the ledge a while longer he may have survived the cataclysm that destroyed so much of the old city. In the wake of such fortune would the young man have leapt to his death? With his love lost to death rather than the arms of another would he have still chosen to die for her? If he had known that his dramatic exit would only be noticed by a passing wizard sick of killing, and then only after millennia had passed, would he have opted for life?

I cannot dwell on the deaths of others. My own life hangs too precariously in the balance. The Dark Brotherhood is smashed, but the patron who contracted my death will likely not be put off. I expect a respite, but not a reprieve.

_**Day 149: Home with my lady**_

I am home. Wealthy beyond imagining, but that makes no difference. What matters is that I am back with my Ahnassi. We have not returned to our own small house, but we are together. Hidden by the combined skills of the mage's guild and the thieve's guild, and with the Dark Brotherhood shattered, I feel safe.

This morning, as promised, I appeared on the steps of the Mournhold temple surrounded by stacks of finely crafted Dark Brotherhood armors and extraordinary weapons. For their part, many smiths and merchants were waiting. The sale went quickly, as I was more concerned with time than money. In fairly short order I had reduced the load to a manageable burden. I took payment in gold, as well as darts and throwing stars of silver, ebony, and adamantium. Some enchanters thinking of enhancements their magica could induce in the armor paid in scrolls that replenished my stocks.

I took transport from Effe-tei and appeared once again in Ebonheart. From there a brief hike took me to Vivec City, where I expected to use the guild guide's services to reach Balmora. I did get transport, and I brooked no delay, but nearly at cost of my plans. Trebonius obstructed my progress, but only briefly.

"Bren!" he roared as I sped through the common chamber. "You! Where are the translations? The great Archmages of the guild have heard that the mystery of the Dwemer is solved. They want answers and they want them from me. So I need them from you, and you disappear! They hear from all quarters that there is a Dwemer alive and I know nothing about it. A Dwemer here in Vvardenfell and the Archmage of Vvardenfell knows nothing about it. You've made me look the fool!"

I nearly told him he was a fool when I met him, but bit my tongue. "I will be picking up the translations soon, if they are ready. Or I could bring you the books which hold the answers immediately, as the Archmage wills." The spells of the school of destruction would be no help to him in solving the riddle for himself, and he knew it. He could not confront me directly, since only I knew where the translations were. He was angry, but he stood aside.

When I arrived in Balmora I found that my sweet Ahnassi had been hidden away by Khajiiti women who at one time had apparently considered me for their own. Ajira and Habasi were not pleased that I had been taken to mate by another Khajiit without informing them, but they had united with their sister in our time of need. I found her here, in the Southwall Cornerclub.

Translations, the Archmage, the Sixth House, Blades, Nerevarine...tonight they all wait.

_**Day 150: Do I go on?**_

Strange that I am a Breton. Strange, as it seems today I was more the Khajiit, and the Khajiit who surrounded me sounded more like the Bretons. For a Breton it seems the lure of being Archmage of Vvardenfell would be insurmountable, but when I rose this morning from a late sleep I was more than ready to spurn it. Ahnassi, Ajira, and Habasi would hear none of it.

The higher ranks of the Mage's Guild would likely not have swayed me, but Ajira does. The Khajiit are not numerous or well represented in the guild, and Ajira has at times suffered for it. Trebonius, of course, is of no use in providing equity or solution. To Ajira it seems that any new Archmage would likely be cut of the same cloth; any save for me. This very reasoning would have me resign the guild and retire to some distant corner of the empire. To be the Archmage would call me to stand against the dangers that threaten the guild. To be the Archmage that Ajira wants is to set myself as a bulwark against the way things are within the guild as well. Do I not have enough enemies?

I did not discuss the Nerevarine prophecies with them, but Ahnassi knows. She knows that the Nerevarine is expected to drive the outlanders from Morrowind. The time of the Nerevarine is at hand. The new king in Mournhold is strong, and the Empire's grip is weak. If I do not become the Nerevarine, who will? Some bigoted Dunmer that will demand an exodus, and enslave any who don't move fast enough? Imperials and Bretons, high elven Altmer and even the wood elves would likely have grace to make their exits, but Argonians and Khajiit have been taken as slaves by the Dunmer throughout history. I looked at the beautifully striped faces, every one so unique, and could not turn away from the questions.

But what I want is to take my dear one far from Morrowind. I hold the Dark Brotherhood's writ for my life, but I do not know in whose name it was issued. Although I destroyed their power in Mournhold the Dark Brotherhood has operated for millennia. I cannot rest as if this setback has made me safe; me or Ahnassi. She says she will not leave, but I know that she would. She knows of a security expert who can make our house safe, or we could take another house and have it secured. I do not think that enough.

I have made promises; to Ashlanders, to slaves, to free citizens who choose Vvardenfell as their home. Those promises haunt me now. There would be so much left undone if I fled now. I listen to my Ahnassi softly purring in the night. The sleep she sleeps with me in the room is secure, as I am here to face the dangers that I bring into her life. Do I allow any other security to take my place? The sun will rise. It pinks the eastern sky already. Though it would disappoint many I may never leave her side again.

Note: Arvil Bren's story continues in the sequel Trail of the Archmage available on this site.


End file.
